There was another pause; she did not know whether to remain or stay;

but, as he had taken up the draft catalogue, she paused, standing by the

table and waiting to see if he would speak to her again.

"Do you not feel lonely here?" he asked.

"Oh, no," she replied, promptly. "Not the very least. There is Mrs.

Dexter, and the books and----" She laid her hand on the head of Roddy,

who strolled in at the moment, and, after wagging his tail in response

to her caress, moved slowly to the Marquess and thrust a wet, cold nose

against the long, thin hand. "Besides, I made an acquaintance this

afternoon; a lady, a dear old lady, Lady Gridborough, at Lensmore

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Grange, you know."

"Yes, I know," he remarked, with a nod. "That is well. She is a good

soul. Warm-hearted, but eccentric. By the way, the house will not be so

dull presently; for my son, Lord Heyton, and his newly-married wife are

coming to stay."

As he made the announcement, he checked a sigh and turned away. Celia

waited for a moment or two; the Marquess had sunk into a chair, his eyes

fixed on the great dog, which had thrown itself at his feet. It seemed

to Celia that his lordship had forgotten her.

"Good night, my lord," she said, softly.

He looked up with a start, rose, and opened the door for her, and, with

a courtly inclination of the head, bade her good night.

Now a strange thing happened. As Celia was crossing the hall, she

stopped and looked at the portrait before which the Marquess had been

standing; and she remembered how she had been struck by a fancied

resemblance to someone whom she could not trace. Her pause before the

picture was scarcely more than momentary, but she was startled by the

sound of footsteps, and, looking up with a half-frightened gaze, found

the Marquess standing beside her. His face was almost stern, his dark

eyes, so like those of the picture, were fixed on her, questioningly;

and there was just a suspicion of anger in the keenness of his regard.

"You are interested in that picture?" he said, in a dry voice.

"I--I----Yes," said Celia, telling herself that she had no cause for

fear, seeing that she had committed no crime.

"Why?" he demanded, curtly, and his tone was still dry and harsh.

Celia was silent for a moment; then she raised her eyes to his,

calmly--for what was there to fear, why should he be angry with her for

looking at the portrait?




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