The days sped past, and still the Duke did not come. Rupert and Léonie rode, fenced, and quarrelled together like two children, while, from afar, the Merivales watched, smiling.

“My dear,” said his lordship, “she reminds me strangely of someone, but who it is I cannot for the life of me make out.”

“I don’t think I have ever seen anyone like her,” Jennifer answered. “My lord, I have just thought that ’twould be a pretty thing if she married Rupert.”

“Oh, no!” he said quickly. “She is a babe, for sure, but, faith, she’s too old for Rupert!”

“Or not old enough. All women are older than their husbands, Anthony.”

“I protest I am a staid middle-aged man!”

She touched his cheek.

“You are just a boy. I am older by far.”

He was puzzled, and a little worried.

“I like it so,” she said.

Meanwhile at Avon Léonie and her swain made merry together. Rupert taught Léonie to fish, and they spent delightful days by the stream and returned at dusk, tired and wet, and unbelievably dirty. Rupert treated Léonie as a boy, which pleased her, and he told her endless tales of Society which also pleased her. But most of all she liked him to remember scraps of recollection of his brother. To these she would listen for hours at a time, eyes sparkling, and lips parted to drink in every word.

“He is⁠—he is grand seigneur!” she said once, proudly.

“Oh, ay, every inch of him! I’ll say that. He’ll count no cost, either. He’s devilish clever, too.” Rupert shook his head wisely. “Sometimes I think there’s nothing he don’t know. God knows how he finds things out, but he does. All pose, of course, but it’s damned awkward, I give you my word. You can’t keep a thing secret from him. And he always comes on you when you least expect him⁠—or want him. Oh, he’s cunning, devilish cunning.”

“I think you do like him a little,” Léonie said shrewdly.

“Devil a bit. Oh, he can be pleasant enough, but it’s seldom he is! One’s proud of him, y’know, but he’s queer.”

“I wish he would come back,” sighed Léonie.

Two days later Merivale, on his way to Avon village, met them, careering wildly over the country. They reined in when they saw him and came to him. Léonie was flushed and panting, Rupert was sulky.

“He is a great stupid, this Rupert,” Léonie announced.

“She has led me a fine dance this day,” Rupert complained.

“I do not want you with me at all,” said Léonie, nose in air.

Merivale smiled upon their quarrel.

“My lady said a while ago that I was a boy, but ’fore Gad you make me feel a greybeard,” he said. “Farewell to ye both!” He rode on to the village, and there transacted his business. He stopped for a few minutes at the Avon Arms, and went into the coffee-room. In the doorway he ran into a tall gentleman who was coming out.

“Your pardon, sir,” he said, and stared in amazement. “Saint-Vire! Why, what do ye here, Comte? I’d no notion⁠—”

Saint-Vire had started back angrily, but he bowed now, and if his tone was not cordial, at least he was polite.

“Your servant, Merivale. I had not thought to see you here.”

“Nor I you. Of all the queer places in which to meet you! What brings you here?”

Saint-Vire hesitated for a moment.

“I am on my way to visit friends,” he said, after a while. “They live⁠—a day’s journey north of this place. My schooner is at Portsmouth.” He spread out his hands. “I am forced to break my journey to recover from a slight indisposition which attacked me en route. What would you? One does not wish to arrive souffrant at the house of a friend?”

Merivale thought the story strange, and Saint-Vire’s manner stranger still, but he was too well-bred to show incredulity.

“My dear Comte, it’s most opportune. You will give me the pleasure of your company at dinner at Merivale? I must present you to my wife.”

Again it seemed that Saint-Vire hesitated.

“Monsieur, I resume my journey tomorrow.”

“Well, ride out to Merivale this evening, Comte, I beg of you.”

Almost the Comte shrugged.

“Eh bien, m’sieur, you are very kind. I thank you.”

He came that evening to Merivale and bowed deeply over Jennifer’s hand.

“Madame, this is a great pleasure. I have long wished to meet the wife of my friend Merivale. Is it too late to felicitate, Merivale?”

Anthony laughed.

“We are four years married, Comte.”

“One has heard much of the beauty of Madame le Baronne,” Saint-Vire said.

Jennifer withdrew her hand.

“Will you be seated, monsieur? I am always glad to see my husband’s friends. For where are you bound?”

Saint-Vire waved a vague hand.

“North, madame. I go to visit my friend⁠—er⁠—Chalmer.”

Merivale’s brow creased.

“Chalmer? I don’t think I know⁠—”

“He lives very much in seclusion,” explained Saint-Vire, and turned again to Jennifer. “Madame, I think I have never met you in Paris?”

“No, sir, I have not been outside mine own country. My husband goes there sometimes.”

“You should take madame,” Saint-Vire smiled. “You we see often, n’est-ce pas?”

“Not so often as of yore,” Merivale answered. “My wife has no taste for town life.”

“Ah, one understands then why you stay not long abroad these days, Merivale!”

Dinner was announced, and they went into the adjoining room. The Comte shook out his napkin.

“You live in most charming country, madame. The woods here are superb.”

“They are finer about Avon Court,” said Anthony. “There are some splendid oaks there.”

“Ah, Avon! I am desolated to hear that the Duc is away. I hoped⁠—but it is not to be.”

In the recesses of Merivale’s brain memory stirred. Surely there had been some scandal, many years ago?

“No, Avon, I believe, is in London. Lord Rupert is staying with us⁠—he is at the Court now, dining with Madam Field, and Mademoiselle de Bonnard, the Duke’s ward.”

Saint-Vire’s hand, holding the wineglass, shook a little.

“Mademoiselle de⁠—?”

“Bonnard. You knew that Avon had adopted a daughter?”

“I heard some rumour,” the Comte said slowly. “So she is here?”

“For a time only. She is to be presented soon, I think.”

“Vraiment?” The Comte sipped his wine. “No doubt she is ennuyée here.”

“I think she is well enough,” Merivale answered. “There is much to amuse her at Avon. She and that scamp, Rupert, have taken to playing at hide-and-seek in the woods. They are naught but a pair of children!”

“Aha?” Saint-Vire slightly inclined his head. “And the Duc is, you say, in London?”

“I cannot say for sure. None ever knows where he will be next. Léonie expects him daily, I think.”

“I am sorry to have missed him,” said Saint-Vire mechanically.

After dinner he and Merivale played at piquet together, and soon Rupert came striding in, and stopped dead upon the threshold at sight of the visitor.

“Thun⁠—Your very devoted, Comte,” he said stiffly, and stalked over to where Jennifer was seated. “What’s that fellow doing here?” he growled in her ear.

She laid a finger on her lips.

“The Comte was just saying that he is sorry to have missed seeing your⁠—your brother, Rupert,” she said clearly.

Rupert stared at Saint-Vire.

“Eh? Oh, ay! My brother will be heartbroken, I assure you, sir. Did you come to pay him a visit?”

A muscle quivered beside the Comte’s heavy mouth.

“No, milor’. I am on my way to visit friends. I thought maybe to see M. le Duc on my way.”

“Pray let me be the bearer of any message you may wish to send him, sir,” said Rupert.

“Cela ne vaut pas la peine, m’sieur,” said the Comte politely.

No sooner had he taken his leave of them than Rupert scowled upon his host.

“Devil take you, Tony, why did you ask that fellow here? What’s he doing in England? ’Pon my soul, it’s too bad that I should have to meet him, and be civil!”

“I noticed no civility,” remarked Merivale. “Was there some quarrel between him and Alastair?”

“Quarrel! He’s our worst enemy, my dear! He insulted the name! I give you my word he did! What, don’t you know? He hates us like the devil! Tried to horsewhip Justin years ago.”

Enlightenment came to Merivale.

“Of course I remember! Why in the world did he pretend he wanted to meet Alastair?”

“I don’t like him,” Jennifer said, troubled. “His eyes make me shiver. I think he is not a good man.”

“What puzzles me,” said Rupert, “is why he should be the living spit of Léonie.”

Merivale started up.

“That is it, then! I could not think where I had seen her like! What does it all mean?”

“Oh, but she is not like him!” protested Jennifer. “ ’Tis but the red hair makes you say so. Léonie has a sweet little face!”

“Red hair and dark eyebrows,” said Rupert. “Damme, I believe there’s more in this than we think! It’s like Justin to play a deep game, stap me if it isn’t!”

Merivale laughed at him.

“What game, rattle-pate?”

“I don’t know, Tony. But if you’d lived with Justin for as many years as I have you wouldn’t laugh. Justin hasn’t forgot the quarrel, I’ll swear! He never forgets. There’s something afoot, I’ll be bound.”