Yet a strange idea haunts me--an uncomfortable suspicion." As he watched her, there seemed to him no trace of anything but light-hearted mirth and happiness about her.

She laughed and talked; she was the center of attraction, the life of the _fete_.

When he spoke to her, she had a careless jest, a laughing word for him; yet he could not divest himself of the idea that there was something behind all this.

Was it his fancy, or did the dark eyes wear every now and then an expression of anguish?
Was it his fancy, or did it really happen that when she believed herself unobserved, the light died out of her face?
He was uncomfortable, without knowing why--haunted by a vague, miserable suspicion he could not explain, by a presentiment he could not understand--compelled against his will to watch her, yet unable to detect anything in her words and manner that justified his doing so.

It had been arranged that after the _fete_ he should return to Verdun House with Lady Peters and Philippa.