"And is it to be the spinney or Daggs Farm?" cried the host. "Come, now, we can't wait about all day, you know."

"But we often wait about an hour after luncheon at Puddlewood, you know," objected the duke. "I say, Doody, don't we often wait about an hour after luncheon at Puddlewood?"

"Mrs. Darling and Sir Caryll are quite out of sight now," announced Charlotte Grey, slinging her blue scarf around her throat. "I wonder what they're saying."

As a matter of fact, at just that second they were not saying anything.

They were stopping and trying to think, and their pulses were interfering rather too much for cool comfort.

They were at the Lower Stream Stile, which was a picture spot in the park. At the moment the picture had the deeper meaning always added by human figures.

Nina sat on the second step of the stile, and Sir Caryll sat on the lowest, cuddled in close by her feet. He had her hand in his and his eyes were raised to her face.

Affairs had moved on very fast--even since luncheon half an hour ago.

"Tell me the truth--your husband is really dead?" the man demanded pa.s.sionately. "It isn't some horrible spasmodic playfulness of yours to talk loneliness and all that while really--"

"No," answered Nina, nestling her fingers closer and speaking in a warm, low voice. "No, he's really dead. He was cleaning his guns and one was loaded. So careless in his boy, wasn't it? No, it's quite all so.

Really, I am marriageable, eligible, and all the rest of it."

Carleigh kissed the nestling fingers. "To think that I ever fancied I knew what love was before!" he murmured. "You dear! You darling! May I call you Nina?"

"But you've called me Nina three times already since luncheon."

"Have I? I didn't know it. Dearest, I do not know what I am doing or saying any more. You have me wound all in and out around these fingers.

"Do you know, I thought I knew a little bit about love and about women, and about what men and women could mean to one another. But I was a baby at the game. I knew the lines, don't you know, but I didn't know their expressiveness. I was a child playing with the letters of the alphabet."

"You saw the symbols, but you didn't know their meaning?"

"Exactly so."

"But now you know."

"Now I know."

Nina hugged herself seductively together. "Isn't it deliciously, delightfully dangerous to sit like this and think that if any one should appear anywhere there would be such an outbreak of talk as would even cause last month to pale with envy?"

He kissed her hand. "I'd love it all," he said. "I can hold no dearer wish than to share a scandal with you. 'There goes the man who made off with Mrs. Darling!' How I should look down with contempt on all less clever men!"

Nina rippled gaily. "You know you do this rather well," she praised.

"I'm sure that whoever peeped would fain believe the lie."

"I hope so."

"I'm sure of it. I'll tell you how flirting compares with marriage. It's like the best rouge and the real color. You can manage the rouge; the real color you can't."

"You're so charming!" he exclaimed, rather absorbing the hand. "And, oh, I'm so happy! When we go home, should they guess, what will it matter?"

She laid her free hand on his shoulder. "I'd mind," she said gently. "I don't want them to talk. I'm asked to the house to comfort you; not to catch you or cure you."

"But, Nina, my darling, what can it matter? You will marry me some day soon."

She started so violently that the old stile creaked and bid fair to fall down. The staghound, which had been lying quietly on the gra.s.s at their feet, started up, too. Carleigh saw his bared fangs and heard his ugly growl.

"Oh, dear!" he protested, trying to pull her back into her place. "Why, what is it?"

"Don't say it!" she cried, in a tone of violent protest. "Don't! Don't!

I'm perfectly willing to play with you at love; but don't speak of marriage.

"When men say that word it always brings me to my senses. I remember, then. The good in me comes back. I get my devil into harness once more.

Have I sinned again? Have I fallen into the pit afresh? Does this man really and truly mean what he says? No, no, no! Oh, no!"

He did pull her down, and he got his arm around her.

"Why, love! Why, precious!" he murmured soothingly. "Dear, dear girl!

Darling Nina!"

"I don't love you!" she cried vehemently. "I never can love you! I do love one man and I can't love any other. It's no use trying."

And then she was out of his grasp, striking him away as roughly as his other betrayer had done.

Carleigh stood paralyzed. In some ways he was little more than a boy.

But--if a boyish heart that had swelled with newborn hope was shrunken suddenly by old, wizened despair--there was at any rate one man-thing about him, for presently he turned his back to her and that ghastly moan--the sob of a suffering man--fell on her ear.

At that Nina came down the two mossy steps and looked at him with curious irresolution, her hand pressed against her lips.

There was a long moment. There was another sob. Then, having drawn close to him, she placed her fingers on his arm.

"What can I do?" she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He sobbed again. "You can love me," he whispered.

"But I love some one else."

"He doesn't love you. I do."

"But I love him."

"And I love you."

He reached back his arm and pulled her around in front of him. His eyes were shut, his face was wet. He held her hard against his bosom. Their lips met.

The staghound's growl ended the long, dumb seconds. It was provoked by Kneedrock, who was beside them.