“Whom did I startle?” asked Jan.

“You startled Lucy.”

“Nonsense!  Did I, Miss Lucy?”

“Yes, you did a little, Jan,” she replied.

“What a stupid you must be!” retorted gallant Jan.  “I should say you want doctoring, if your nerves are in that state.  You take—­”

“Oh, Jan, that will do,” laughed Lucy.  “I am sure I don’t want medicine.  You know how I dislike it.”

They were standing together within the large window, Jan and Lionel, Lucy sitting close to them.  She sat with her head a little bent, scenting her verbena.

“The truth is, Jan, I and Lucy have been watching some intruder who had taken up his station on the lawn, underneath the yew-tree,” whispered Lionel.  “I suppose Lucy thought he was bursting in upon us.”

“Yes, I did really think he was,” said Lucy, looking up with a smile.

“Who was it?” asked Jan.

“He did not give us the opportunity of ascertaining,” replied Lionel.  “I am not quite sure, mind, that I did see him; but Lucy is positive upon the point.  I went to the tree, but he had disappeared.  It is rather strange why he should be watching.”

“He was watching this room attentively,” said Lucy, “and I saw him move away when Mr. Verner went on the lawn.  I am sure he was a spy of some sort.”

“I can tell you who it was,” said Jan.  “It was Roy.”

“Roy!” repeated Lionel.  “Why do you say this?”

“Well,” said Jan, “as I turned in here, I saw Roy cross the road to the opposite gate.  I don’t know where he could have sprung from, except from these grounds.  That he was neither behind me nor before me as I came up the road, I can declare.”

“Then it was Roy!” exclaimed Lionel.  “He would have had about time to get into the road, from the time we saw him under the tree.  That the fellow is prying into my affairs and movements, I was made aware of to-day; but why he should watch my house I cannot imagine.  We shall have an account to settle, Mr. Roy!”

Decima came up, asking what private matter they were discussing, and Lionel and Lucy went over the ground again, acquainting her with what had been seen.  They stood together in a group, conversing in an undertone.  By and by, Mrs. Verner passed, moving from one part of the room to another, on the arm of Sir Rufus Hautley.

“Quite a family conclave,” she exclaimed, with a laugh.  “Decima, however much you may wish for attention, it is scarcely fair to monopolise that of Mr. Verner in his own house.  If he forgets that he has guests present, you should not help him in the forgetfulness.”

“It would be well if all wished for attention as little as does Miss Verner,” exclaimed Lord Garle.  His voice rung out to the ends of the room, and a sudden stillness fell upon it; his words may have been taken as a covert reproof to Mrs. Verner.  They were not meant as such.  There was no living woman of whom Lord Garle thought so highly as he thought of Decima Verner; and he had spoken in his mind’s impulse.