all these dark faces were the masks of a secret society.

The doctor rose with a half apology. "I must ask pardon
for disturbing this pleasant party; I am called away on duty.
Please don't let anybody move. We have to be ready for
these things, you know. Perhaps Mr. Treherne will admit
that my habits are not so very vegetable, after all."
With this Parthian shaft, at which there was some laughter,
he strode away very rapidly across the sunny lawn to where the road
dipped down toward the village.

"He is very good among the poor," said the girl with
an honorable seriousness.

"A capital fellow," agreed the Squire. "Where is Miles? You will
have a cigar, Mr. Treherne?" And he got up from the table;
the rest followed, and the group broke up on the lawn.

"Remarkable man, Treherne," said the American to
the lawyer conversationally.

"Remarkable is the word," assented Ashe rather grimly.
"But I don't think I'll make any remark about him."

The Squire, too impatient to wait for the yellow-faced Miles, had betaken
himself indoors for the cigars, and Barbara found herself once more
paired off with the poet, as she floated along the terrace garden;
but this time, symbolically enough, upon the same level of lawn.
Mr. Treherne looked less eccentric after having shed his curious cloak,
and seemed a quieter and more casual figure.