"Are you sure it's quite clean?" asked Lord Henry, catching hold of her hand and examining the bangle closely, so as to retain her a few moments longer.

"What does it matter?" Leonetta cried. "Really, I'm sure it's all right."

He looked up. There was no sign of the three fugitives, and he allowed her to turn round.

"Now we must step it out, I'm afraid," he said.

Leonetta laughed gleefully. "What fun, isn't it?" she chirped. "I wonder how it fell off!"

"Simply one of those strange accidents which go to determine the course of our lives," he observed calmly. "By accidentally throwing a tennis ball further than he intended, Sir Sidney Smith was ultimately able to decide the fate of Napoleon's campaign in Syria; the British Throne was once lost by just such an accident as this, and Kellermann's charge at Marengo was of the same order."

She looked up into his thoughtful face. His self-possession was one of the most wonderful features about him.

"What do you mean?" she exclaimed. "I hardly know whether you are serious or not."

"Have you never heard," he pursued, "of the story of that priceless Arabian pearl, which, after it had been missing for months was ultimately returned to its owner by a bird? Meanwhile, however, the owner in question had been robbed of all he possessed, and the pearl itself would certainly have gone too, if it had not been accidentally hidden where only the bird could have found it. One day the bird was killed, the treasure was found in its nest, and the owner was restored to a state of affluence, of which, if the pearl had not originally been lost, he must have despaired till the end of his days.

"You are walking fast," said Leonetta breathlessly.

"Yes,—do you mind?"

"We shan't be so very late."

"I should prefer not to be late," said Lord Henry, "I know Sir Joseph studies punctuality."

Truth to tell, the young nobleman's imagination had for the last few minutes been busy with more vital matters than the framing of fresh contributions to the Arabian Nights' Entertainment, and he was feeling none too well at ease. It had occurred to him that his drastic action might have more disastrous effects than merely nipping Denis's passion in the bud, and he wished to rejoin the company at Brineweald at the earliest possible moment.

"I assure you, Lord Henry, that you can take it much more easily," cried Leonetta.

"Let me give you my arm," he suggested. "That will help you."

She took his arm, and he proceeded to tell her how probably a chance unpleasant word dropped by Charles I. to Lady Carlisle had ultimately led to the Grand Rebellion.

Meanwhile, Denis Malster, panting more with fury than from the violent exercise he had taken, had reached the terrace of Brineweald Park, and was looking about him for someone to whom he could confide his incriminating intelligence against Lord Henry.

"All alone?" cried Mrs. Delarayne, coming towards him. "My word, how hot you look!"

"Vanessa and Tribe are close behind," he said; "they'll be here in a minute. Where are the others?"

"Cleopatra, Agatha, Agnes, and Guy have just come in," replied the widow. "But where's Leonetta?"

"She's somewhere," he said indifferently. "Lost her bangle or something." And he passed on, making towards the smoking-room, the door of which was open.

Evidently Mrs. Delarayne was not to be his confidante, and, as he vanished behind the glass doors, she wondered what his strange manner could signify.

There was no one in the smoking-room, and he moved on into the lounge.

Sir Joseph was there, sipping an aperitif with Guy, and sitting around them were Miss Mallowcoid and the first arrivals, still clad in their mackintoshes. They were all discussing the arrangement for some rabbit shooting in the afternoon. Sir Joseph wanted the rabbits for his men in Lombard Street.

Cleopatra and everyone looked up as Denis entered.

"Well?" enquired Guy, "did you find the bangle?"

Denis braced himself for a great effort and, smiling with as much good humour as he could muster, helped himself to a glass of sherry.

"Yes, what about the bangle?" Stephen exclaimed.

"When I last saw them," Denis observed with creditable composure, "they were too busy kissing to be able to find any bangle."

As he pronounced these words he glanced furtively at Cleopatra, but although he noticed that she winced, he was not a little surprised to see how collected and serene she remained. Did she perhaps think he was lying?

"They were what?" cried Miss Mallowcoid.

"Too busy, kissing,—kissing," Sir Joseph repeated.

The spinster rose.

"Rubbish!" cried Stephen. "He's only joking, Miss Mallowcoid."

"Of course!" interjected Mrs. Tribe.

"Well, what of it?" Sir Joseph exclaimed, "even if they were."

"But who, who were kissing?" the old spinster demanded, going up to Denis.

Denis laid his empty glass upon the tray and walked quietly out. Miss Mallowcoid evidently taking his departure as a hint, followed close behind.

In the smoking-room he turned and faced her.

"What is all this about?" she enquired.

"Well, I don't know what you think," said Denis with tremendous gravity; "but really, when a man close on forty, not only entertains a child with all kinds of unsuitable conversation, but also inveigles her into the woods alone in order to kiss her, it seems to me things have really gone far enough."

"You don't mean Lord Henry, do you?" ejaculated Miss Mallowcoid, clasping her hard white hands in horror.

"I'm sorry to say I do!" Denis rejoined just as Vanessa and the Incandescent Gerald, who had also returned home, came in through the smoking-room and vanished into the lounge.

"Oh, but this it monstrous!" cried Miss Mallowcoid. "Does her mother know?"

"No, I've said nothing," said Denis, as the gong went for lunch. "If I hadn't been pressed I shouldn't have said anything even now."

"Oh, but it was very noble of you to tell us," said Miss Mallowcoid, pondering a moment what she could do. "Very noble. Thank you, thank you, Denis!"

Meanwhile Vanessa and the Incandescent Gerald had naturally been questioned by Sir Joseph, and Lord Henry's champion, Stephen; and it was not until the Incandescent Gerald had admitted very solemnly and reluctantly that he was afraid he did see Lord Henry embrace Leonetta, that Stephen was appeased, or rather silenced.

"Well, I'm surprised, that's all," said the youth, and as he said this, Cleopatra, very pale and a little unsteady on her feet, glided quietly out of the room.

She had disbelieved it until the end. It was only when the incorruptible Gerald Tribe had admitted it that she also had been convinced.

In a few minutes the whole party, except Cleopatra, was assembled round the luncheon table. Lord Henry and Leonetta had returned, and what with her joy over her recovered bangle, and her pride in Lord Henry's recently revealed affection, few could have looked more guiltless and more free from care than the heroine of the morning's adventure.

Miss Mallowcoid ate little. Her faith in the desirability of human life in general had been rudely shaken. She therefore kept her eyes fastened sadly on the immoral couple, and wondered how two such sinful beings could eat and talk so heartily.

Lord Henry, however, was not quite as bright as his fellow sinner, for the dramatic absence of Cleopatra from the luncheon table made him feel somewhat apprehensive. From the way in which Mrs. Delarayne assured him that it was only a passing migraine that was keeping her daughter away, he was led to hope that it was truly only one of those curious accidents, or coincidences, concerning which he had been discoursing to Leonetta on the way home; but he was not devoid of sensitiveness, and something in the manner of all present, except Mrs. Delarayne, led him to fear the worst.

He was not at all alarmed by Denis's haggard and angry mask, for that he had expected. What he would like to have known was why Miss Mallowcoid and Sir Joseph regarded him so strangely, and why Stephen looked so sad.

Denis scarcely addressed a word to Leonetta, and whenever he was constrained to vouchsafe a laconic answer to any question from her, he glanced significantly at Miss Mallowcoid for her approval.

After lunch Lord Henry conveyed to Mrs. Delarayne that he would like to speak to her alone, and she followed him out on to the terrace.

"I want to see Cleopatra,—do you think I might?" he said.

"I'll go and ask her," replied the widow.

"By-the-bye," he added, "have you been told anything about Leonetta and myself in the wood this morning?"

"No," she replied, with perfect honesty.

"Well, whatever you may hear," he said, "trust entirely to me."

She smiled approvingly, and went off in search of Cleopatra.

Lord Henry joined the others. He was certainly very much relieved to hear that Mrs. Delarayne had been told nothing. Did that mean that Cleopatra also had been told nothing? He noticed, however, that as soon as he came up to the group consisting of Miss Mallowcoid, Denis, Sir Joseph, and Guy, their conversation stopped.

"Who's going rabbit-shooting?" he demanded.

"We all are!" cried Mrs. Tribe, coming towards him from another part of the terrace; "isn't it fun?"

Mrs. Tribe was the only member of the party, besides Leonetta, who was still perfectly affable to him, but even in her eyes, he thought he saw the suggestion of strained good cheer.

"May I come?" he asked.

"Of course!" cried Leonetta.

"I shall want you for a minute or two, remember, Denis," Sir Joseph observed. "Mrs. Delarayne has told you, I think."

"Yes, sir," said Denis.

At this moment Mrs. Delarayne reappeared. She looked a trifle anxious and motioned to Lord Henry to join her.

"Well?" he enquired.

"I'm afraid she must have gone home," she said. "She can't be found."

"Can't be found?" cried Lord Henry, with a note of deep alarm in his voice. Could she possibly have been among those who that morning had returned to help find the bangle, and he had not seen her, though she had seen him?

"Oh, I shouldn't worry," continued Mrs. Delarayne. "She's gone home, that's all. Don't look so dreadfully concerned!"

"Do you really think so?" he enquired. He felt uneasy notwithstanding. The coincidence, if it were a coincidence, was singular in the extreme. And yet he could not believe that Denis had told her, and Vanessa and Tribe had surely not had time to do so. He had seen them ascend the steps of the terrace. Besides,—why should they? Nevertheless, the predicament was an awkward one. He had counted on speaking to Cleopatra directly after lunch.

"Would you mind if I went to 'The Fastness'?" he asked.

"Certainly not. Go by all means," Mrs. Delarayne rejoined. "But is it as urgent as all that?"

"It's very urgent," said Lord Henry.

She scrutinised him for a moment in silence. She had always had a dark presentiment that her daughters would come between her and this man.

Lord Henry turned back into the house, fetched his hat and rain-coat, and in a moment was striding rapidly towards the Brineweald gate.

The shooting party was to leave at three o'clock, and two of the under-keepers with the ferrets were to meet them at the edge of the wood at a quarter past. It was now half-past two. Sir Joseph was enjoying his afternoon nap. Mrs. Delarayne, closeted in the library, was listening to her sister's indictment of Lord Henry, and the others were chatting on the terrace.

Denis, who had a pretty shrewd suspicion of what his interview with Sir Joseph and Mrs. Delarayne portended, looked anxiously at his watch and rose. He signed to Leonetta that he would like her to join him, but as she made no effort to move, he went over to her, and leaning over the back of her chair, whispered that he would be glad if she would take a short stroll with him.

She rose laboriously, as if he were placing himself under a tremendous obligation to her, by making her go to so much trouble; and, after assuring the others that she would not be long, followed Denis with that jerky mutinous gait in which each footfall is an angry stamp;—it is characteristic of women all the world over, when they are induced to do something of which they disapprove. For she was wondering where Lord Henry could be, and feared lest, by leaving the terrace, she would miss him when he returned.

"You know we start off at three," she said to Denis, as she caught him up.

"Yes, I know," he replied gruffly.

"Well, we haven't much time, have we?

"You're not going far, are you?"

"Only to the rose-garden," he snapped. "Don't be alarmed! I shan't keep you longer than I can help."

He lighted a cigarette. Vaguely he felt that some such subsidiary occupation might prove helpful.

"In a moment of pardonable madness," he began, "the night before last, when I rather lost my head in my passion, I made a proposition to you which I should now like to recall."

"Oh," she said.

"I don't mean that it was not sincere," he pursued, "or that I was not moved by an unalterable feeling. I mean that it was not serious enough."

"Not serious enough?" she repeated.

"No, perhaps it was not quite the right thing, either," he said. "And I'm very sorry."

"Oh, that's all right," she rejoined cheerfully.

"Well, it isn't," he observed. "Because, Leo, I seriously wanted you, and I want you still. And I ought to have asked you to become engaged to me in the proper and ordinary way, instead of what I did say."

She was silent. Her head was bowed, and she kicked one or two stones along as she walked.

He caught hold of her hand. "I want you to forget what I said the night before last," he continued, "and to ascribe it all to the madness of my feelings. I want you to say, too, that I may consider,—that from now onwards I mean,—that we are properly engaged."

Still she made no reply.

"Come, Leo, you're not hesitating, are you? Won't you marry me?"

She stopped, released her hand from his, and averted her gaze.

"Say you'll marry me, Leo! So that I can tell them in a minute or two that you have consented. Do!"

"Whatever made you think of this?" she exclaimed fretfully.

"I have been thinking of it for some time. I mean it truly," he stammered.

"But I thought you loved my sister!"

Denis retreated a step or two and regarded the girl for a moment in mystified silence.

He was staggered. This piece of brazen audacity on her part petrified him, and his face betrayed his speechless astonishment.

"I really did, Denis. I thought you loved Cleo."

"But then," he gasped, "what—what have you and I been doing all this time?"

"When?"

"Why, the day before yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that!—in fact ever since I came down here?"

"Oh, I thought you were simply having a good time," she protested, looking perfectly guileless and charming.

"Well!" he exclaimed, choking with mingled stupefaction and rage, "I've never heard anything——"

"I did really," she interrupted. "I thought you were only flirting."

"You let me go far enough to believe anything," he objected, this time with a savour of moral indignation.

"I thought it was too far to believe anything," was her retort.

"Haven't you any feeling for me, then?" he cried, utterly nonplussed.

She dug the toe of her shoe into the ground, and watched the operation thoughtfully. "Not in that way—no."

"What?—do you allow anybody to hug you then?"

"No, of course not!" she replied. "I did like you, and I like you still. But not in that way."

"What do you mean—not in that way?" he demanded a little angrily.

"Oh, I don't know," she replied, beginning to swing her arms with boredom; "I mean that I hadn't looked upon you as a possible husband, I suppose."

He flushed with vexation.

"Why not?" he enquired in scolding tones.

She glanced into his face for the first time during the interview. She saw the bloated look of mortified vanity in his eyes, and she was a trifle nauseated.

"Let's be getting back," she suggested.

He turned reluctantly in the direction of the house.

"You have not spoken the truth, Leo," he remarked in the tense manner of one who is making a violent effort to moderate his fury.

"I'm certainly trying to," she said.

"Shall I tell you the truth?" he snarled.

"No—please don't!"

He was silent for a moment, swallowing down his wrath.

"It's that man!" he said at last. "That's who it is. If I had asked you three days ago you would—you would have consented. It's that man!"

She cast a glance askance at him. He was boiling with mortification now, and perhaps nothing makes even the noblest features look more mean than the smart of a rebuff.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're driving at," she said calmly.

He laughed bitterly. But his cheeks were pricking him, and the garden danced before his eyes.

"It's Lord Henry, of course," he sneered. "He has conquered your affections meanwhile."

"Don't be ridiculous!" she said.

"Well, shall I go and tell him for you this minute that you are perfectly indifferent to him?"

She made an effort to compose her features. "You can if you like," she replied.

"No, that wouldn't suit your little game, would it?"

"I have no little game," she snapped.

"No, it's big game,—the son of a marquis!"

They were at the foot of the terrace. He had succeeded in infuriating her. Her eyes shot fire and she stamped her foot. "That's simply vulgar!" she cried, loud enough for those on the terrace to hear. "You're vulgar!"

He retreated hastily to the steps that led to the drawing-room, whence he regarded her with a malevolent scowl. He could have said so much more to her, so many more wounding things. It was intolerable to be called "vulgar," when one had controlled one's wrath as he had done.

Meanwhile she, bracing herself for a dignified entrÉe, walked slowly up the steps, and faced the others who were just about to move off to the woods.

"Why, I haven't a gun!" she exclaimed, as she joined them.

"Here you are!" said Stephen. "I've brought one for you."

She smiled gratefully at him. "That was thoughtful of you," she said.

And Stephen, feeling somehow that, since her affair with Lord Henry that morning, Leonetta had gone over at one step to that vast majority of worldly females who, in his boyish imagination, appeared to him mistresses of the great secrets of life, blushed slightly and turned his head away.