“Lord Arranmore was your father’s friend though, was he not?”

“They came together abroad,” he answered, “and Lord Arranmore was with my father when he died in Canada.”

She stopped short.

Where?

“In Canada, on the banks of Lake Ono, if you know where that is,” he answered, looking at her in surprise.

She resumed her usual pace, but he noticed that she was pale.

“So Lord Arranmore was in Canada?” she said.  “Do you know how long ago?”

“About ten years, I suppose,” he answered.  “How long before that I do not know.”

She was silent for several minutes, and they found themselves in the drive leading to the Bullsom villa.  Brooks was curious.

“I wonder,” he asked, “whether you will tell me why you are interested in Lord Arranmore—­and Canada?”

“I was born in Montreal,” she answered, “and I once saw some one very much like Lord Arranmore there.  But I am convinced that it could only have been a resemblance.”

“You mentioned it before—­when we saw him in Mellor’s,” he remarked.

“Yes, it struck me then,” she admitted.  “But I am sure that Lord Arranmore could not have been the person whom I am thinking about.  It is ridiculous of me to attach so much importance to a mere likeness.”

They stood upon the doorstep, but she checked him as he reached out for the bell.

“You have seen quite a good deal of him,” she said.  “Tell me what you think of Lord Arranmore.”  His hand fell to his side.  He stood under the gas-bracket, and she could see his face distinctly.  There was a slight frown upon his forehead, a look of trouble in his grey eyes.

“You could not have asked me a more difficult question,” he admitted.  “Lord Arranmore has been very kind to me, although my claim upon him has been of the slightest.  He is very clever, almost fantastic, in some of his notions; he is very polished, and his manners are delightful.  He would call himself, I believe, a philosopher, and he is, although it sounds brutal for me to say so, very selfish.  And behind it all I haven’t the faintest idea what sort of a man he is.  Sometimes he gives one the impression of a strong man wilfully disguising his real characteristics, for hidden reasons; at others, he is like one of those brilliant Frenchmen of the last century, who toyed and juggled with words and phrases, esteeming it a triumph to remain an unread letter even to their intimates.  So you see, after all,” he wound up, “I cannot tell you what I think of Lord Arranmore.”

“You can ring the bell,” she said.  “You must come in for a few minutes.”

Their entrance together seemed to cause the little family party a certain amount of disturbed surprise.  The girls greeted Brooks with a great show of pleasure, but they looked doubtfully at Mary.

“Did you meet at the front door?” Selina asked.  “I thought I heard voices.”  Brooks was a little surprised.