lies. If he came back, and if she chose, he would marry her, and be the
imperturbable, delightful, incalculable, impossible companion she had
always known him. He would marry her--and decline to come under her roof.
He would, perhaps, pitch his tent in her paddock; he would sit at her
table in sweater and flannels, sandals on his feet, while she and her
guests were in the ordinary garb of--gentlefolks. Gentlefolks! Yes. But
the maddening and baffling thought was a conviction that he would be the
greatest gentleman there. She knew that. Lord of his mind, lord of his
acts, easy in his will, and refusing to bow to any necessity but that, he
would be the superior of them all. Could this be borne? Or could she bear
to surrender so rare a friend to a Miss Percival?

Who could Miss Percival be? It was a good name--better than Middleham,
which had been her own, as good as Germain, which had been her husband's.
Sanchia, an extraordinary name, an unusual name. It sounded Spanish and
aristocratic. The Honourable Hertha de Speyne: she had known the daughter
of a noble house so styled in her governess days, her days of drudgery,
and even now it had a glamour for her, who had since hobnobbed with many
honourables, flirted with many young lords, and been kissed by a duchess.
Miss Sanchia Percival: the Honourable Sanchia Percival. No doubt this was
a high lady. And she must be beautiful, or Jack wouldn't speak of her as
he had. He hushed his voice down, he spoke as if she were a goddess, as if
to disobey her call was out of the question. A dull heat stirred deeply
within her, and she found herself setting her teeth together. No! Jack had
brought her to this pass--and she would not be left there.

These were the thoughts of Mrs. Germain as she sat very still, with heavy-
lidded eyes, listening to Senhouse's story. He ended it in these words:
"You charmed me, Mary, and you still charm me. You are very sweet, and I
shall never want a dearer mate than you might be, if you would. I vow to