It was not only Marrion Paul whose night had been disturbed. Lord Drummuir, brought thereto by many days' indiscretions, PÉrigord pie at supper, and perchance his hot though transient anger at the finale to the fandango, fell a victim to the sharpest attack of gout he had had since Christmas and kept his side of the house awake with his curses on things in general, and his valet in particular.

And, on the other side of the south wing, Fantine Le Grand, alias Fanny Biggs, sat till dawn, staring at herself in the looking-glass and ciphering out the effect of something, new yet old, which had unexpectedly come into her life. She had sent her maid to bed, but felt no inclination for her own, until the disturbing element had been thoroughly reckoned with; for she was eminently practical and shrewd.

So she sat, her elbows on the dressing-table, her fingers cramped in her loosened hair, taking stock of the pretty painted face which had been the loadstar of her life. It was beginning to show age. She had admitted that to herself for some time past, and had told herself it was time for her to draw in her horns. But now had come this disturbing factor. Only that morning she had remorselessly plotted to turn Marmaduke out of the house by fair means or foul. Now she was clear-sighted enough to admit that she would much rather keep him beside her.

Strange that one dance, one delicious abandonment of herself to his directions should have revived her youth--made her think of the gouty old man with positive loathing.

"You are a fool," she murmured to her reflection in the glass; but the reflection answered back--"It is your last chance. Why miss it?"

She thought and thought, only one thing coming to her with certainty. To play with Marmaduke, as she had proposed to do, would be to play with fire. Was she prepared for this?

At last, wearied out, she rose, poured out a double dose of sleeping drops, and put off further considerations for the morning, since no matter at what decision she arrived, she could not afford to be haggard. She woke, late as usual, to feel, with the usual buoyancy of perfect health and practically no conscience, that she had been making a mountain out of a molehill; but the first glance at the breakfast-table laid in her little boudoir sent a thrill through her which reminded her that there were indeed pitfalls ahead. For on it lay a huge bunch of red, red roses, tied together somewhat clumsily with a red silk officer's scarf, and in it was tucked away a boyish note: "Excuse tie, I hadn't any other ribbon. Hope you aren't tired after our wonderful dance. My love to you."

So it was real, tangible; and something must be settled one way or the other. She frowned over her breakfast and then, untying the bouquet, disposed the roses about the room, since Lord Drummuir, of whose illness she had not yet heard, might come in at any moment. The tie she set aside, its fate being not yet decided.

After a while Colonel Compton, as usual, lounged in, a cigar in his mouth.

"By George, Fan," he said admiringly, "that was a treat you gave us last night! Upon my soul, if I'd known you had so much spunk left in you, I'd never have advised your going on the shelf! If you could only get that young fellow as a co, you'd take the town by storm."

"Should I?" she answered, with a half yawn; but her mind seized instantly on a new idea.

"Of course you would," he went on, "and I've done a bit of impresario work in my time. Marks, if he'd seen it, would have offered you fifty sovs a night on the spot. The old man is no mean judge, and you saw how it angered him."

She burst into a little laugh.

"But he soon got over it. You see he has a sense of humour; if he hadn't, I could not stand him, I really couldn't!"

"Don't know about getting over it. He's down to-day with a real bad fit of the gout----"

"Is he?" she remarked coolly. "Then I shall have a holiday." As she said the words her mind travelled over the possibilities of even a few days. "Compton," she said suddenly, "I never quite understand the position of affairs in regard to Drummuir's sons. The estate's entailed, isn't it?"

"Heir male of the body," replied the colonel. "That is why I warned you to look out lest Marmaduke should worm money out of his father. So long as the old man lives you're all right; but when he dies you will only have the cash and the savings--and the title. The rest all goes to Pitt--after him, as he has no children, and isn't likely to have any--to Marmaduke as heir presumptive. After him to Peter, but Marmaduke is sure to marry; he's really a very good-looking fellow----"

She interrupted him curtly; she did not need to be told that.

"Thanks. I quite understand, only I wished to be sure."

She passed to the window and looked out. Peter, as usual surrounded by a perfect pack of silly, silky spaniels--they suited him exactly with his wide weak mouth, long fair hair, and general exuberance of dress--was on the lawn talking to Marmaduke. The latter looked up, saw her, and bowed. She kissed her hand to him and returned to her seat, her mind still confused, but her will steady.

"Well," she said lightly, "I suppose by and by I shall have to go in and cheer up my fiancÉ, but I shan't be sorry for a few days' holiday."

She told Marmaduke so also when she appeared, exquisite and dainty, declaring that, as she was useless at home, since his father, poor dear, could not even bear the sight of her for more than five minutes, she thought it would be a fine opportunity to see a little more of the place than she had hitherto been able to; and would Marmaduke tell her where to go.

The result of which innocent interrogatory being that in the full glory of a summer afternoon, the sea calm as a mill pond, Marmaduke found himself sitting in a boat as it drifted idly beneath the old red sandstone cliffs facing the North Sea with his arm round La Fantine's waist and a curious mixture of desire and disdain in his heart.

"You see, my dear boy," she was saying, "I dare say you think ill of me."

"I don't, I don't indeed!" he protested.

"Well, you did think ill of me," she continued, with a heavenly smile; "but I really have all the Christian virtues. That is the worst of it. I hate giving pain, or seeing people suffer. And I like doing my best for people, if I can. Now my proposition sounds rather impossible, but it really is quite feasible. I'm not going to talk about our feelings, Duke. We both of us remember last night, so we will leave them out of the question. But you are a young man, you have a future before you--that is to say, if you play your cards properly. You want to be a soldier----"

"I don't mean to be anything else," interrupted Marmaduke decidedly, "so your plan of my making money by dancing with you is out of the question."

"Not on six months' sick leave, under an assumed name? Now, Duke, listen and don't interrupt. If you and I join forces and run away from here, I will engage to get the money for your majority. I tell you any manager would advance two thousand on the fandango alone--or Jack Jardine could finance one half--as he always does, and I the other. Then you could join, get leave, disappear, have a real stunning six months with me--London, Paris, Vienna perhaps. You don't know what the life is like, Duke--and I'm not jealous or exacting. I like to amuse myself, and so should you."

He looked at her admiringly.

"What an imagination you have!" he said. "And you settle everything so quickly. You remind me----" And here the thought of Marrion Paul made him suddenly shift back to the thwart and begin to scull once more. "We are nearing the current," he said apologetically, "and she needs steering--and so do I!" he added, with a charming smile, "so go on, please, with your imaginations."

She gave him a sharp look, saw he had still some fight left in him, and like a good fisherman let him have his head a bit.

"Of course it is all imagination," she assented, "and it depends on whether you think it worth while to pay the price I ask for all this. I am five years older than you are, Duke" (in reality she was fifteen, but under a rose-lined sun hat years disappear), "but I am still attractive."

She said the word so cunningly that he laid on his oars and bent forward till his burning eyes were close to hers.

"Attractive!" he echoed. "You're more than that, and you know it--at any rate, I do!"

"I am glad of it," she assented, "for it makes it easier for both of us; but, as I said, I don't want to dwell on our feelings, they are too recent to be--er--reliable. It is purely as business that I put it to you. I want to get back to the old life, if I can do it with any chance of success. Last night showed me I could. But I also want to be Lady Drummuir. You want to get your majority, and also--there is no use in mincing words--to spite your father for not giving you the money. Now all these desires can be combined----"

The grating of the keel on a shingly shore interrupted her, and Marmaduke stood up, shipped his oars, and held out both his hands.

"Let's leave it for the time, little lady, or you'll persuade me out of my persuasion that you're right. There's the most ideal spot for lovers just round that rock. Let's go there and forget everything and everybody except that I am the most delightful man in the world, and you are the most delightful--and attractive--woman!"

The hint of artificiality in his tone made her frown, but there was frank sensual admiration in his look as he set her down after lifting her from the boat.

"I think," he said softly, as he held out a finger bleeding from the prick of a pin, "you are the daintiest, thorniest thing I ever touched. You're like the roses I gave you this morning, all colour, sweetness and scent, and--thorns."

Whereat they both laughed as they made their way to the ideal spot for lovers. To their surprise and discomfiture they found it already occupied by Margaret Muir, who was looking sentimentally out to sea with the Reverend Patrick Bryce's arm round her waist.

"Meg!" cried Marmaduke, aghast.

"Oh, Marmaduke! Why? How did you come?" wailed his sister, jumping up and looking round as if for escape.

The Reverend Patrick Bryce, however, stood his ground. He was a small spare man of about fifty, dapper and spruce, his curling grey hair having the appearance of a wig under his low crowned hat, his clear, starched clerical bands natty to a degree.

"Captain Marmaduke Muir, I presume," he said, with a bow of a marquis. "I regret much exposing my dear Miss Margaret Muir to this unpleasantness, but I beg you to believe that, as my affianced wife, I am ready to defend her to the uttermost."

Marmaduke looked from one to the other of the delinquents.

"You don't mean to say, Meg," he said at last, "that you wish to marry the minister?"

The very idea seemed to him preposterous, absurd; he almost laughed at it.

The Reverend Patrick Bryce gave her no time for reply.

"She not only desires to marry me, sir, but she is going to do so, please God, before long. Yes, sir, I propose to take her away from a demoralising atmosphere, and give her, to the utmost of my power, the love and affection she deserves."

He looked very gallant as he made his little speech, and Marmaduke acknowledged to himself that he played the gentleman well. Still, he turned again to his sister in incredulity.

"You can't do it, Meg. To begin with, if the Baron----"

"Baron Drummuir, sir, will have nothing to say to it," interrupted the little minister once more. "The Honourable Margaret Muir is of age, and if she chooses to marry a man of birth equal to her own--I do not care to boast of my ancestry, sir, but Bryce and Bruce are the same, and my family tree shows Robert of Scotland to be my immediate ancestor--she is at liberty to do so."

"That is for Lord Drummuir to decide," said Marmaduke grimly. "Of course, I shall tell him, Meg, what I've seen."

Margaret clasped her hands in entreaty.

"Oh, please, don't, Duke--please, please!"

"Margaret," interrupted the minister sharply, "oblige me by not entreating your brother to silence. Let him speak if he chooses. We are not ashamed of ourselves."

All this time Mdlle. Le Grand had been watching the scene with her sharp eyes, and her acute little brain had been working out any advantage to herself. Now she saw her way and slipped forward with a smile.

"My dear Marmaduke," she said, as the two men stood glaring at each other, "live and let live is a valuable motto. You must remember that Margaret can also tell on us. Silence on both sides is the best way out of the difficulty. Don't you think so, Miss Muir?"

Margaret gave a frightened look at her brother.

"Ah, Duke," she cried, "you don't mean to say you----"

Fantine Le Grand interrupted her with perfect aplomb.

"That has nothing to do with it, my dear young lady; but you know as well as I do what would happen if your father got wind of this excursion of ours. So, as I said, silence is wise. Don't you agree with me, sir?"

The Reverend Patrick Bryce once more made the bow of a marquis.

"I reserve the right to speak if I choose----"

"And so do I," she retorted sweetly, "only we won't choose. Come, Marmaduke, it is time we were going back. Had we not better take your sister with us? It will look better--for both sides."

And here she gave a delightful tinkle of a laugh.

She kept up the rÔle so well on the return journey that simple Margaret Muir was quite fascinated, and when, artfully, the suggestion was made that Marmaduke should see his sister home to the Dower House, the latter took the occasion to remark, as the former had hoped she would, on her surprise at finding Mdlle. Le Grand so agreeable and so well mannered.

"She is very charming," replied Marmaduke, a trifle gloomily, "and very clever."

He felt vaguely that he had been played with, and that he had had no more responsibility in the game than a pawn at chess. He felt also that the compact of silence with his sister brought imaginings nearer to reality.

And the idea of that six months on the Continent was a temptation; anyhow, he would have another go at the old man first.

If he still refused--well, on his head be it!