movement towards her; then, as if
suddenly remembering the wondering, frightened girl on his arm, stopped.

"You--you know one another!" said Lucy, at last, in a kind of gasp.
"Oh, what does it mean?"

Ralph Duncombe, the ever ready, self-possessed city man, the man whose
clerks regarded him as of iron rather than flesh and blood, stood
biting his lip, and staring at the white figure motionless and dumb.

But the gods made women quick, and that glance from one to the other
had told Leslie all their story. Trembling a little, but outwardly
calm, she glided towards them.

"Yes," she said, slowly, distinctly, "Mr. Duncombe and I know each
other. We are old, very old friends----."

"Friends?" fell from Lucy's quivering lips, and spoke doubtfully in her
wide-open eyes.

"Yes, dear," said Leslie, softly, "great friends--nothing more." The
last two words werequarter, I should say," said Grey,
pulling out his watch.

"Oh, put that watch away!" said the duke. "You have lugged it out
twenty times during the last half hour. Do you think I haven't seen
you? I wish to heaven you'd go away if you must fidget."

"Beg pardon, your grace," said Grey from behind, and hiding a smile.
"Shall I wheel your grace in, the air is rather----."

"Nonsense! It's as hot as--as a furnace. Are they coming yet? They seem
to forget that I'm a director of this beastly line! By George, I'll
go down to their next board meeting and make it hot for them! More
accidents occur from the unpunctuality of trains than anything else.
Ah, what's that?"

"They're coming, your grace!" exclaimed Grey.

The duke made a movement as if he were about to rise,