She bent her head over the tea-table and busied herself with the cups.

But her hands shook; her face burned, she was tortured with shame.

She had set herself to do battle with her father, and already in the first skirmish she had been defeated.

Chayne's indiscreet words had laid bare to her the elaborate conspiracy.

The new gardener, the gun in the corner, the cartridges which had to be looked for, Barstow's want of skill, Hine's superiority which had led Barstow so naturally to offer to back the gardener against him--all was clear to her.