the Marlborough Road station and he knew the Colonel, coming to his sittings, more than once had availed himself of that convenience. 'How in the world did she get in?' He addressed the question to his companions indifferently.
'Let us go down to luncheon,' said Mrs. Capadose, passing out of the room.
'We went by the garden—without troubling your servant—I wanted to show my wife.' Lyon followed his hostess with her husband and the Colonel stopped him at the top of the stairs. 'My dear fellow, I can't have been guilty of the folly of not fastening the door?'
'I am sure I don't know, Colonel,' Lyon said as they went down. 'It was a very determined hand—a perfect wild-cat.'
'Well, she is a wild-cat—confound her! That's why I wanted to get him away from her.'
'But I don't understand her motive.'
'She's off her head—and she hates me; that was her motive.'
'But she doesn't hate me, my dear fellow!' Lyon said, laughing.
'She hated the picture—don't you remember she said so? The more portraits there are the less employment for such as her.'
'Yes; but if she is not really the model she pretends to be, how can that hurt her?' Lyon asked.
The inquiry baffled the Colonel an instant—but only an instant. 'Ah, she was in a vicious muddle! As I say, she's off her head.'
They went into the dining-room, where Mrs. Capadose was taking her place. 'It's too bad, it's
