She thought of the skill--the peremptory smiling skill--with which she had beguiled him into the garden, on the day when the young couple paid their first call at Upcott.

First, the low-spoken words at the back of the drawing-room, while Mrs.Barnes and the Duchess were skirmishing-- "I _must_ speak to you.

Something that concerns another person--something urgent." Whereupon, unwilling and rather stern compliance on the man's part--the handsome face darkened with most unnecessary frowns.

And in the garden, the short colloquy between them--"Of course, I see--you haven't forgiven me! Never mind! I am doing this for someone else--it's a duty." Then abruptly--"You still have three of my letters." Amusing again--his shock of surprise, his blundering denials! He always was the most unmethodical and unbusiness-like of mortals--poor Roger! She heard her own voice in reply.

"Oh yes, you have.