The great house in Park Lane was brilliantly lighted up, and passers-by asked themselves what distinguished company Lord Ravenspur was entertaining tonight. Inside the house the master of it all was counting the moments till he should be alone. He was only giving an informal dinner, but the guests numbered upwards of thirty all the same. And now they were disported all over the house. Ravenspur sat in the great hall, with its mosaic floor and wonderful marble pillars. It was one of the show places of London, the envy of many whose means were greater than Ravenspur\'s. The veiled lights shone through palm and fern. The sultry evening seemed to be rendered cooler by the murmur of the fountains. It was possible to sit there and see the fish darting hither and thither, so that the effect of being somewhat far away in the seclusion of the woods was complete. A tall, fair woman, marvellously attired, was languidly singing the praises of the place to her host.

"There is nothing like it," she said. "It is absolutely unique. We have tried the same effect in America, but, somehow or another, it seems so artificial, so wanting in repose. You are the most fortunate of individuals, Lord Ravenspur."

"So my friends tell me," Ravenspur smiled. "But you must not always judge by appearances."

If his guest only knew, Ravenspur thought. If she could only guess what his feelings were at that moment. The beauty of the place had been a delight to him at one time. He had enjoyed the planning and building, but now he would have changed it for the meanest cottage, if only he could approach to peace and comfort thereby. The house seemed full of omens. Danger seemed to lurk everywhere. No doubt those banks of palms behind the water gave a charming effect to the hall, but, then, an assassin might have hidden behind them, for they afforded plenty of cover. The genial smile was still on Ravenspur\'s face. No one would have guessed the grey tenor of his thoughts. Even the pretty woman by his side had no idea how anxiously he was watching the clock in the gallery.

Meanwhile, the guests flitted from place to place, and Ravenspur could hear the click of the balls in the billiard-room. Somebody was playing brilliant music in the drawing-room. Usually, Ravenspur\'s guests were loth to leave, and tonight was no exception to the rule; but presently they began to drift away, until, at length, Ravenspur was alone.

He heaved a deep sigh of relief. He rose and turned in the direction of the studio. As he did so a slim, white figure came down the broad stairs, and Vera Rayne stood before him. She was looking her very best tonight. There was an extra dash of colour in her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes. The look that Ravenspur turned upon her was half affectionate and half sad.

"You did very well tonight," he said, "considering this is the first time you have done me the honour to act as hostess to my guests. You played your part quite to the manner born, Vera. We shall have no occasion to call in the services of Lady Ringmar any more. You will find yourself paragraphed in the papers now."

Vera did not appear to be listening. Her beautiful face had a grave look upon it now. She hesitated for a moment before she spoke. There was no hurry about her words, but Ravenspur could not fail to see that she was palpably nervous.

"It will not be for long, then," she said. "My dear guardian, can I have a few moments\' conversation with you? It is not so very late, and one so seldom gets an opportunity."

"How grave you are," Ravenspur smiled. "We will go as far as the library, if you like, and then I can smoke a cigar and listen to your weighty utterances. Come along."

It was cosy enough in the library, and much more inviting of confidences than the stately splendour of the pillared hall. Ravenspur threw himself back in an armchair and lighted a cigar. Then he signified to Vera to proceed. Her lips were trembling now. Something bright and diamond-like twinkled under her lashes.

"You have been very kind to me," she said unsteadily.

"Have I really, my dear? Nothing out of the common, I am sure. And what have I done? Given you a good education and found you a comfortable home; and from first to last you have never caused me a moment\'s anxiety. I have become as fond of you as if you were my own child. It will be a genuine grief to me when the right man comes along and takes you away from here."

"There is not much fear of that," Vera smiled wistfully. "Of course, you may think me ungrateful. You may say that I am showing a great deal of dissatisfaction----"

"My dear girl, you are not dissatisfied, surely?"

"I am afraid I am.............