through the undergrowth. There was something a little mysterious about the otherwise profound silence of the impenetrable woods. Even their footsteps fell noiselessly upon the spongy turf.
Wrayson spoke at last. They had fallen sufficiently far behind the others to be out of earshot.
"Do you know what Madame de Melbain has been saying to me?" he asked.
Louise turned her head a little. There was the faintest flicker of a smile about her lips.
"I cannot imagine," she declared, looking once more straight ahead.
"She has been inciting me to bold deeds," Wrayson said. "How should you like to be carried off in mediæval fashion—married, willing or unwilling?"
"Is that what Madame de Melbain has been recommending you to do?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Yes! And I am thinking of taking her advice," he said coolly.
She laughed quietly, yet his ears were quick, and he caught the note of sadness which a moment later crept into her eyes.
"It would solve so much that is troublesome, wouldn't it?" she remarked. "May I ask if that has been the sole topic of your conversation?"
"Absolutely! Louise! Dear!"
She turned a little towards him. His voice was compelling. The fingers of her hand closed readily enough upon his, and the soft touch thrilled him.
"You have some fancy in your brain," he said, in a low, passionate whisper. "It is nothing but a fancy, I am assured. You have heard what your own friend
