it!"

"Yes, I did it." Lady Tatham rose quietly. She had paled, and after a
minute's hesitation she held out her hand to Melrose. "Suppose, Edmund,
we bury the hatchet. I should like to be friends with you and your wife,
if you would allow it?"

The change of manner was striking. Up to this moment Lady Tatham had
been, so to speak, the aggressor, venturing audaciously on ground which
she knew to be hostile--from bravado?--or for some hidden reason? But she
spoke now with seriousness--even with a touch of womanly kindness.

Melrose looked at her furiously.

"Lady Tatham, I advise you to leave us alone!"

She sighed, met his eyes a moment, gravely, then turned to Netta.

"Mrs. Melrose, your husband and I have an old quarrel. He wanted to marry
my sister. I prevented it. She is married now--and he is married. Why
shouldn't we make friends?"

"Quarrels are very foolish!" said Netta, sententiously, straightening her
small shoulders. But she dared not look at Melrose.

"Well, tell him so," laughed Lady Tatham. "And come and see me at Duddon
Castle."

"Thank you! I should like to!" cried Netta.