The evening passed pleasantly enough; and I dreamed that night of
that enigmatical woman, Mary Cavendish.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, and I was full of the
anticipation of a delightful visit.

I did not see Mrs. Cavendish until lunch-time, when she
volunteered to take me for a walk, and we spent a charming
afternoon roaming in the woods, returning to the house about
five.

As we entered the large hall, John beckoned us both into the
smoking-room. I saw at once by his face that something
disturbing had occurred. We followed him in, and he shut the
door after us.

"Look here, Mary, there's the deuce of a mess. Evie's had a row
with Alfred Inglethorp, and she's off."

"Evie? Off?"

John nodded gloomily.

"Yes; you see she went to the mater, and--Oh, here's Evie
herself."

Miss Howard entered. Her lips were set grimly together, and she
carried a small suit-case. She looked excited and determined,
and slightly on the defensive.