It was perhaps fortunate for Jack that Lord Barmouth appeared to be engrossed in his own painful thoughts. At any rate he did not seem to notice that his youthful visitor's gaze was fixed so intently upon the photograph. So far as Jack could see, the picture had been taken some years before, and had not that wild, defiant, yet half-sad expression which marked Serena to-day. There was not much time to think, but Jack rapidly made up his mind. He would say nothing to Barmouth of his discovery, but would open up the matter as delicately as possible with Lady Barmouth. It was not a nice thing for a comparative stranger to intrude upon sacred griefs like this, but the discovery was so likely to lead to important results that it would have been folly to hesitate. It was some considerable time later before Jack left Lord Barmouth, who shook him warmly by the hand, and implored him to come again.

"You can imagine what a lonely life mine is," Barmouth murmured; "my wife is devotion itself, but one longs for the company of a man sometimes."

Jack promised sincerely enough that he would come again and often. He had taken a great liking to the lonely man who bore his cruel misfortunes so well. He had not intended at present to worry Lady Barmouth with the recent discovery, but she happened to be crossing the hall, and looked upon Jack eagerly and curiously.

Jack was about to say something to Lady Barmouth, when some one called her, and she turned away. Evidently she had no intention to allow Masefield to leave the house without satisfying herself as to the result of his interview with Lord Barmouth. With this feeling upon him, Jack lingered in the hall. He suddenly recollected that he had left his gloves behind him, and returned for them. He found Barmouth standing before the fireplace, apparently lost in thought. Jack had to speak twice before his host realized the fact that he was no longer alone.

"I came back for my gloves," Jack explained. "I left them on the little table behind there. I am sorry to intrude upon you again, but since you have been so kind to me----"

"On the contrary, it is you who have been so kind to me," Barmouth said. "I am not sorry you came back, because I have been thinking over the interview which we have just concluded. I might have told you a great deal more than I did; indeed, I was perhaps unwise to be so reticent. If you will come and see me again----"

"I will come and see you as often as I can get an opportunity," Jack said warmly. "Apart from the gratification of my vulgar curiosity, I have been wonderfully entertained by your experiences. I saw Lady Barmouth in the hall just now, and I know that she is anxious to learn how we got on together."

Jack went out again, with a feeling that he was more and more drawn towards his unfortunate host. He lingered in the hall for a moment gazing at the fine pictures and the artistic arranging of the flowers, hoping that Lady Barmouth would return. He had not long to wait, for presently she came floating down the stairs again. There was a pleased smile on her face.

"Oh, I am so glad you stayed so long," she said . "My poor George must have enjoyed your society or he would not have detained you. I am sure you got on very well together."

"We got on very well indeed together," Jack explained. "I have now a pretty shrewd idea of this Nostalgo business. During my interview with your husband I made a still more stupendous discovery."

"Something that affects my husband's case?" Lady Barmouth asked eagerly.

"I think it touches it very deeply indeed," Jack said gravely. "May I intrude upon you for another five minutes? Mind you, I have said nothing of this to Lord Barmouth, because it seems to me to concern you alone."

Lady Barmouth led the way back to the small drawing-room again. Her eyes were fairly dancing with curiosity. "It is about your sister," Jack said--"the sister whose photograph stands on the mantelpiece in your husband's room."

"Oh, must we really go into that?" Lady Barmouth asked, with a shade of coldness in her voice. "There are matters so sacred that even the most sincere friend----"

"Believe me, I am speaking under the strongest sense of duty," Jack urged. "Nothing else would induce me to speak. Lord Barmouth told me it was a very painful subject, but we must go into it."

"It is a painful subject," Lady Barmouth murmured. "She was my youngest sister, and very dear to us all. I do not say she had no faults; indeed, she had far too many. But she was very lovable in spite of her headstrong ways and her quick fits of passion. She never got on particularly well with my father, who all the same cared for her very much indeed. She was sent at the age of seventeen from Southern Mexico, where we lived at that time, to finish her education in London. I don't know why, but it seemed to be assumed that she was the daughter of very rich parents, and that in the course of time she would inherit a great deal of money. Be that as it may, she contrived to fall head over heels in love with her music-master, and they ran away together and got married. We never quite knew the name of the man; however, it was something quite foreign, and, judging from what happened afterwards, probably was no more than an alias. My sister's letter to her father announcing her marriage was returned to her unread, and she was given to understand that she could no longer consider herself one of the family. That sorry scoundrel who had brought so much unhappiness on the poor girl's head basely deserted her, and from that day to this I have seen nothing of the poor child.

"She did not write to you, she did not communicate with you in any way?" Jack asked.

"I have just told you that I have never heard of or seen the poor girl since. She was as proud as she was high-spirited, and after what had happened would have died rather than have appealed to any of us for assistance. But why do you ask?"

"Because I recognized in the portrait in question the features of one who I see nearly every day of my life. There can be no question about the matter at all, Lady Barmouth--your sister has been for a long time Spencer Anstruther's housekeeper."

"You astonish me; you move me more than words can tell. My sister in the house of that man? Do you mean to suggest for a moment----"

"I am not suggesting anything whatever that is wrong," Jack said earnestly. "For some time past I have been trying to make a study of the poor woman who calls herself Serena----"

"That is my sister's second name," Lady Barmouth interposed.

"Yes! But I have not made much progress. It is quite evident to me that your poor sister has had a terribly stormy past. Not that her spirits are broken, for there comes ever and again in her face the look of one who is prepared to fight to the bitter end. All the same, she is absolutely under the domination of Spencer Anstruther; she watches his every movement; indeed, it is almost as if he had hypnotized her. But that there is anything wrong--oh, no, Anstruther simply regards your sist............