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Desmond grimaced.

“It isn’t only the time, my child. I haven’t a mount these days! We’re not doing too badly, but—it doesn’t run to luxuries yet!”

“Oh, Des!” Judith said self-reproachfully. “I ought to have thought of it before! I’d mount you! You can have Darky—that is, if you’d like to!”

Desmond noticed that sudden diffidence with satisfaction. There had been a time when Judith took their friendship just for granted. Now she was not quite sure of herself—or him. It meant a subtle change in their relationship that could imply quite a lot.

For a fleeting second he laid his hand gently over hers, removing it before she had a chance to withdraw.

“Surely you know, Judith,” he said quietly, “that there is nothing that I should enjoy more than riding— with you?”

Judith fumbled with her reins and flashed him a quick, unsure look. She saw that he was smiling and— just the same familiar Desmond as ever. She found herself smiling in return, completely reassured.

“That’s settled then!” she said gaily. “When? Would next Tuesday suit you?”

“Marvellous!” he declared. “How about the early afternoon?”

“Splendid!” Judith sparkled, and left him, in higher spirits than she had known for some time.

For she knew perfectly well that Charles had planned to be out riding most of that afternoon. He had spoken of his intention of going over to a near-by farm to inspect some stock and he, like her father, usually did his travelling on horseback, except when the distance was too great.

Well, for once he would have to change his habits! He could either have the cob or go by car. Desmond was going to have Darky. She was determined on that.

And yet, she made no mention of her plans to Charles. Only on the Tuesday morning she strolled down to the stables and, in front of Charles, told Joe that she would want both horses saddled for half-past two.

“A friend of mine is riding with me,” she explained to Charles, her eyes limpid and innocent.

Of course Charles knew perfectly well that she was deliberately trying to provoke him. She wanted him to protest so that she had the opportunity of pointing out that, after all, he had never really been given permission to ride Darky, and it was hardly reasonable that he, her employee, should have the monopoly of the horse when she required it. It was not as if there was not the cob— grimly Charles pictured himself on that useful little animal and decided that he would use his car. The cob was quite up to his weight, but with his long legs he would not only look extremely funny but would be uncommonly uncomfortable as well. So he made no other comment than:

“It should be a good afternoon for a ride!” and had proof of what Judith’s intentions had been by the disappointment in her expressive face.

Desmond, for all her profession of pleasure at his appearance, found her an extremely silent companion that afternoon.

Linda heard from her friends in Sussex. They gave her all the information she had asked for and more besides. For instance, that he was not engaged and, so far as they knew, was not likely to be.

Linda folded the letter up and smiled to herself as she put it safely away in one of her private drawers to which she knew there was no likelihood of Desmond going. She had no intention whatever of sharing her information with anyone yet. She wanted to use it herself to the best advantage, and she had no desire to see it explode prematurely.

Rather to her surprise, a few days later, she and Desmond had an invitation to dine at Windygates. There had been very little entertaining done by Judith’s father for many years, and her and Desmond’s visits there had been informal and latterly infrequent. They were both usually too tired to want to turn out in the evening. But this was rather different. True, knowing that Desmond would be eager to accept, she pretended to be rather reluctant, but in the end she gave way.

“It means dressing, though!” she reminded him. “Mr. Bellairs is going to be there, and he still clings to convention!”

“Oh well, only dinner jacket,” Desmond commented. “Now if it were a boiled shirt I might jib, this weather!”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking about you!” Linda said with sisterly candour. “I was wondering what on earth I’ve got that is fit to wear! You’re lucky. Men’s clothes never date. Ours do! And they wear out more quickly.”

“Wear that red thing of yours,” Desmond suggested. “I’ve always liked you in that!”

Linda cast despairing eyes to the ceiling.

“Don’t you know that that is one of the remarks you should never make to a woman?” she asked. “It is as good as calling it an old rag!”

Desmond laughed.

“I suppose, whatever a woman wears, a mere man ought to exclaim that he has never seen her look more marvellous and why has she never let him see that dress before!”

“Well, it would be an improvement,” Linda admitted, her mind more concerned with her own dress than with abstract discussions like this. “Of course, she might tell you that it just showed you never really noticed what she wore and she’d had it for years!”

Desmond groaned.

“I give up!” he declared.

But if Linda was concerned about what to wear, Judith had no such problems. Dress had never interested her very much. She liked to look neat and tidy, but style and cut meant absolutely nothing to her. Consequently, there was only one dress in her wardrobe that she could wear on such an occasion, and it was utterly uninspired. Not only was the material unexciting and the colour, a tired blue, utterly unsuitable, but somehow or other the slim loveliness of her figure was masked and blurred. And, as she squirmed and wriggled to reach all the down-the-back buttons that fastened it, she grimaced at her reflection and wished that Mr. Bellairs wasn’t such a stickler for customs that were long since out of date. It was not that she cared how she looked, but it was all such a nuisance. She would much rather have worn her usual work-a-day breeches or one of the plain cotton frocks that she wore most evenings in the summer.

Linda’s toilette that night took such a long time that Desmond began to shout warnings up the narrow, twisted staircase. And when at last his sister did appear, he gave an expressive whistle.

“Got up to kill, aren’t you?” he suggested. Linda shrugged her shoulders. Fortunately for her, Mrs. Enstone had made almost a hobby of buying up lengths of beautiful materials that caught her eye, and necessity had forced Linda to find out how to make the best of them. For this dress she had chosen a green and bronze shot taffeta. The well-fitting bodice showed her figure to perfection, while the deep swathe of almost carelessly folded material round her shoulders drew attention to their whiteness. The skirt, close fitting at the hips, flared out into wide, graceful lines and, for the finishing touch, she rustled softly like a summer breeze as she walked.

“Don’t be silly,” she said lightly in response to Desmond’s remark. “It’s only polite—
_:
—”

“Do you know what I’d call that rig if I were a
couturier
giving a show?” Desmond interrupted. Linda shook her head indifferently. “Tiger’s lair! Yes, I mean it! The changing colours of the material suggest the depths of a jungle, and your hair—you know, I believe I was right! You are out to kill! What interests me is—who is the prey? Somehow, I hardly think Bellairs fills the bill. So it must be Saxilby. Is it?”

“Don’t be a fool, Desmond!” Linda said coolly. “According to Judith he is neither attractive nor well-to-do. Is that the sort of man I should be interested in?”

“No,” he admitted promptly. “But all the same,
you
are the sort of woman who believes in first impressions. I’m not sure you altogether trust Judith’s opinion—and you are taking no chances!”

“You are altogether too clever,” Linda told him. And with the obvious intention of changing the subject went on rather sharply: “I suppose you
did
give the car a clean up inside? I’ve no desire to arrive with smears of oil all over me.”

“You won’t,” he promised.

After all, they were not late, for Mr. Bellairs had still to arrive when they got to Windygates, and so had Charles.

It struck Linda afresh as Miss Ravensdale greeted her that the older woman did not really like her—or, for that matter, Desmond, and not for the first time she wondered what had prompted the invitation.

“What a charming dress!” Miss Ravensdale commented pleasantly. “And a very beautiful material!”

“It is some that Mother had stored away,” Linda said rather shortly. In view of the simplicity of Miss Ravensdale’s own silver-grey dress, she felt that the remark was in the nature of a criticism, and she resented it.

They were sitting on the terrace enjoying the cool of the early evening, and almost immediately Mr. Bellairs joined them, followed closely by Charles.

Both the Enstones knew the solicitor, of course, for, so long as the family had had any affairs he had dealt with them. They greeted him politely, and then Miss Ravensdale introduced Charles to Linda.

Linda paid him the compliment that few men can resist of giving him all her attention at that moment. She smiled up at him not only with her lips but with her eyes as she offered Charles her hand and he, taking it, bowed over it with an ease and grace which recalled to her the fact that he was, after all, half-American by birth and consequently far more a squire of dames than a man entirely English usually admits to being.

And then, as he stood erect again, their eyes met for a moment and Linda found herself thinking:

“Judith is a fool! The man is amazingly attractive! Good-looking and intelligent. You can see it at a glance. Something else, as well! Exciting.”

But, from her cool, possessed manner, no one would ever have guessed her thoughts—or her deep interest as he turned to greet Judith—Judith looking, so Linda had decided when they met, like a sack tied in the middle. She
was
a fool! With a man like this about.

But it was very evident that Judith simply did not see him in that light. As a matter of fact, she was very much annoyed that Miss Ravensdale had invited him at all, and she vented her anger on Charles by ignoring him as far as possible. So that, Linda realised, was why she and Desmond had been asked. For some reason or other, Miss Ravensdale was determined that Charles should be entertained and, knowing Judith’s prejudices, had taken care that they need not be thrown together too much.

And when it was time to go into dinner she found that her guess was correct. The dining-table was round, and Judith had been carefully placed between Mr. Bellairs and Desmond, although that meant that brother and sister were next to each other. However, it soon appeared that Miss Ravensdale knew what she was doing. She, naturally, after a few words with Charles, turned to her contemporary, Mr. Bellairs, while Desmond devoted all his attention to Judith. Evidently, Linda thought drily, Charles had been as much of a surprise to him as to her and, consequently, he was working hard to keep all Judith’s interest for himself.

He need not have been quite so assiduous, Linda thought complacently. For Charles, apparently, had no eyes at all for Judith. And really, was it any wonder? Why should a man like that, who obviously must know his own attractions, be bothered to pay attention to a badly dressed girl with no manners or charm of any sort when he could talk to herself? Fortunately for her self-confidence it did not occur to her to wonder why a man who worked from choice and not necessity should stay on in what must be very uncomfortable conditions.

Of course, what Judith in her prejudice had missed entirely, was the fact that he was a man of considerable education and culture. Or if she did realise it, it only served to strengthen her opinion that Charles must be a waster to need such a job. Linda, with her greater knowledge of the truth, could appreciate the fact that it betokened considerable character in a man to work hard when he did not have to.

Nor did her first impression of him change. Definitely exciting. The sort of man who, however unconsciously, makes women aware of his presence. And, Linda judged, who was able to find considerable pleasure in the companionship of an attractive woman.

She was intensely conscious of the fact that he was deliberately assessing her, weighing up her attractions, deciding what she was really like, and Linda felt completely unperturbed. She knew perfectly well that she could stand any amount of scrutiny that night, and if anything was needed to add a finishing touch to her charms it was that she was on trial. It was like a spark to tinder, and she was by turns a sparkling raconteur or an absorbed listener as the moment demanded.

But Charles could not help noticing that more than once there was a puzzled look in her eyes, and, manlike, he naturally wondered what it was all about.

Not until they were out on the terrace again drinking their coffee did she give vent to an exclamation of triumph. Charles looked up, smiling an enquiry.

“You know, ever since Miss Ravensdale introduced us, I was sure that I had seen you before!” she explained. “And now I remember where it was! The year before last I attended a point-to-point with some friends in Sussex, and you were riding!”

“I don’t remember,” Charles said apologetically.

“Oh, we weren’t introduced,” Linda explained. “As a matter of fact, you were talking with some other people. I think my friends said your brother and his wife. Sir Roger—something. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what!”

It was so naturally done that inevitably Charles replied:

“Garwin. Yes, we’d driven over.”

Suddenly there was an abrupt movement and Judith was standing there.

“Do you mean to say—is it true that Sir Roger is your brother?” she demanded fiercely.

Charles stood up.

“My half-brother,” he corrected. “Yes, it is quite true!”

Judith’s laugh was almost hysterical in its triumph.

“It isn’t any wonder then that your references were so marvellous!” she said viciously. “Or that, right from the beginning, I was convinced that they were worthless!”