"I don't know and I don't care," retorted Garvington. "An Englishman's
house is his castle, you know, and he can jolly well shoot any one who
tries to get into it. Besides, I shouldn't mind potting a burglar. Great
sport."

"You'd ask his intentions first, I presume," said Lady Garvington
tartly.

"Not me. Any one getting into the house after dark doesn't need his
intentions to be asked. I'd shoot."

"What about Romeo?" asked a poetic-looking young man. "He got into
Juliet's house, but did not come as a burglar."

"He came as a guest, I believe," said a quiet, silvery voice at the end
of the table, and every one turned to look at Lady Agnes Pine, who had
spoken.

She was Garvington's sister, and the wife of Sir Hubert Pine, the
millionaire, who was absent from the house party on this occasion. As a
rule, she spoke little, and constantly wore a sad expression on her pale
and beautiful face. And Agnes Pine really was beautiful, being one of
those tall, slim willowy-looking women who always look well and act
charmingly. And, indeed, her undeniable charm of manner probably had
more to do with her reputation as a handsome woman than her actual
physical grace. With her dark hair and dark eyes, her Greek features and
ivory skin faintly tinted with a tea-rose hue, she looked very lovely
and very sad. Why she should be, was a puzzle to many women, as being
the wife of a superlatively rich man, she had all the joys that money
could bring her. Still it was hinted on good authority--but no one ever