and music, some exquisite water-colours upon the white walls, newspapers and magazines lying about, which gave the place a habitable air. A great semicircular window commanded a wonderful view of the park, but Wrayson had little time to admire it. A door was opened at the further end of the room, and he heard the soft rustling of a woman's gown upon the carpet. It was Louise who came towards him.
She was dressed in white muslin, unrelieved by ornament or any suggestion of colour. Her cheeks were unusually pale, and the shadows under her eyes seemed to speak of trouble. Yet Wrayson thought that he had never seen her look more beautiful. She gave him her hand with a faint smile of welcome, and permitted him to raise it to his lips.
"This is very, very foolish," she said softly, "and I know that I ought to be ashamed of myself."
"On the contrary," he answered, "I think that it is very natural. But, seriously, I feel a little overpowered. You won't want to live always in a castle, will you, Louise?"
She sighed, and smiled, and sighed again.
"I am afraid that our castle, Herbert," she murmured, "will exist only in the air! But listen. I must speak to you before the others come in."
"I am all attention," he assured her.
"It is about Madame de Melbain," she began, a little hesitatingly.
He waited for her to continue. She seemed to be in some difficulty.
"I want you to watch and do just what we others do," she said, "and not to be surprised if some of our arrangements seem a little curious. For instance,
