
but all that was now of the past.  In those brief moments as they rode
together along the country road in the wintry twilight, recollections of
summer days at Fernhurst came back to her, and she hated herself.  In
those days she had actually forgotten Dudley.  And then she also
remembered how this man had condemned her lover: how he had urged her to
break off the acquaintance, and how he had hinted at some secret which,
when exposed, must result in Dudley's ruin.

Those enigmatical words of his had caused her much thought.  At what had
he hinted?  A thousand times had she endeavoured to discover his
meaning, but had utterly failed.  If such a secret actually existed, and
if its revelation could cause the downfall of Dudley Chisholm, then it
was surely her duty to discover it and to seek its suppression.  This
latter thought caused her to hesitate, and to leave unsaid the hasty
answer that had flashed into her mind.

"Well," she said at length, "now that you have spoken plainly, I may as
well confess that I have been annoyed--very much annoyed."

"I regret that!" he exclaimed with quick concern.  "If I have caused
madame any annoyance, I assure her it was not in the least intentional.
But tell me how I have annoyed you."

"Oh, it was a small matter, quite a trivial one," she said with affected
carelessness, settling her habit and glancing furtively at the man who
had declared that he held her lover's secret.

"But you will tell me," he urged.  "Please do.  I have already
apologised."

"Then that is sufficient," she replied.

"No, it is not sufficient I must know my offence, to be fully cognisant
of its gravity."

Her brows contracted slightly, but in the fading light he did not notice
the shadow of annoyance that passed across her countenance.

"As I have told you, the offence was not a grave one," she declared.  "I
was merely annoyed, that is all."

"Annoyed by my actions, or by my words?"

"By your words."

"On what occasion?"

"On the last occasion you dined at my house."

For a moment his face assumed a puzzl