"You are early as usual, Constance," he said approvingly.

Lady Constance Tremaine smiled as she turned with him and walked along

the mosaic pavement of the terrace. She was little more than a girl,

with a slim, graceful figure, and clad in a simple white morning gown,

which served to enhance her youthful beauty. Her face was a pure oval,

with clear-cut features and an exquisitely curved, sensitive mouth,

while her grey-blue eyes gazed from beneath their thick lashes with a

calm serenity that bred faith and confidence in those who looked upon

them. Crowned with a wealth of pale golden hair, together with her

delicate complexion, she looked as if she had stepped from one of the

old Florentine pictures of the saints.

As the two so typical of youth and age stood side by side in the clear

morning light, the resemblance between them was marked. Indeed, they

were related, for the Tremaines were a distant branch of the Leroy

family, and the same proud blood ran in their veins. Lady Constance had

been brought up in the Barminster household, and Adrien had grown to

regard her in the light of a loved and trusted sister; but, as yet,

nothing more.

"Won't you come in to breakfast?" she said, as they reached the end of

the terrace. "Aunt Penelope is not coming down; her nerves are bad this

morning."

Miss Penelope Leroy, Lord Barminster's only sister, was not strictly

speaking Constance's aunt, merely a distant cousin; but as a child

Constance had been accustomed to call her so, and the habit had grown up

with her.

Lord Barminster smiled grimly.

"I advised her to let the cucumber alone last night," was his only

comment as he turned towards the breakfast room.

Constance smiled too, for she knew that when Miss Penelope complained of

her nerves, it was in reality nothing but a case of indigestion.

"How bright the course looks this morning!" she said, with a charitable

wish to change the subject, for Lord Barminster was apt at times to wax

caustic over his sister's small weaknesses.

"Yes," he said grimly; "like all things dangerous, it is pleasant to the

eye. I hate that strip of green--it is the grave of many a Leroys' best

hope. The turf has always been a fatal snare to our race. But, come," he

broke off, "let us go in. Thank goodness, Adrien arrives to-day."

"To-day?" repeated Lady Constance, a delicate flush rising to her sweet

face. "I thought he was not going to arrive until the morning of the

race."




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