"You will tell me next that you are pleased with the engagement!"

"On the contrary, I am sorry for it. But depend upon it, a man of thirty-five is capable of judging for himself what will best suit him."

"Oh, Julian, I know she will make him unhappy!"

"I think it extremely probable," he replied. "But as neither of us has the power to prevent such a contingency we should be extremely foolish to interfere in the matter."

She sighed, and picked up her embroidery. After a period of reflection, she said in a mollified tone: "I don't wish to be censorious, and I must say she is extremely kind to little Julian."

The entrance of the Colonel put an end to the conversation. He had been dining at the Duke's table, and seemed to be more concerned with the difficulties of the military situation than with Barbara's volatility. He sat down with a sigh of relief before the fire, and said: "Well! we depart (I need hardly say) at daybreak. It will be a relief to leave these Headquarters behind us. If his temper is to survive this campaign Old Hookey must have a respite from the letters they keep sending from the Horse Guards."

"Crusty, is he?" said Worth.

"Damned crusty. I don't blame him: I wouldn't be in his shoes for a thousand pounds. What is needed is good troops, and all we hear of is general officers. Added to that, the staff which has been employed here :s preposterous. One is for ever tumbling over deputy-assistants who are nothing more than subaltern officers, and no more fit for staff duty than your son would be. They are all being turned off, of course, but even so we shall have too many novices still left on the staff."

"If I know anything of the matter, you will have more - if Wellington pays any heed to the recommendations he will receive," remarked Worth.

"He don't, thank the lord! Though, between ourselves, some of those recommendations come from vcry exalted quarters." He stood up. "I am off to bed. Have you made up your mind whether you come along with us, or not, Worth?"

"Yes, as far as to Ghent. Where do you go from. there?"

"Oh, Tournay - Mons! All the fortifications. I shall be away for about a week, I suppose."

Both men had left the house when Judith came down to breakfast next morning. She sat down at the table. with only The British and Continental Herald to bear her company, and was engaged in perusing the columns of Births, Marriages, and Deaths, when the butler came in to announce the Lady Barbara Childe.

Judith looked up in surprise; she supposed Lade Barbara to be in the salon, but before she could speak - that tempestuous beauty had brushed past the butler into the room.

She was dressed in a walking costume, and carried a huge chinchilla muff. She looked pale, and her eyes seemed overbright to Judith. She glanced round the room, and said abruptly: "Charles! I want to see him!"

Judith rose, and came forward. "How do you do?" she said. "I am sorry, but my brother has already left for Ghent. I hope it is nothing urgent?"

Barbara exclaimed: "Oh, confound it! I wanted to see him! I overslept - it's those curst drops!"

Her petulance, the violence of the language she used, did nothing to advance her claims to Judith's kindness. "I am sorry. Pray will you not be seated?"

"Oh no! There's no use in my staying!" Barbara replied dejectedly. Her mouth drooped; her eyes were emptied of light; she stood swinging her muff, apparently lost in her own brooding thoughts. Suddenly she looked at Judith, and laughed. "Oh, heavens! what did I say? You are certainly offended!"

Judith at once disclaimed. Barbara said, with her air of disarming candour: "I am sorry! Only I did wish to see Charles before he left, and I am always cross when I don't get what I want."

"I hope it was not a matter of great importance."

"No. That is, I behaved odiously to him yesterday - oh, to you, too, but I don't care for that! Oh, the devil, now what have I said?"

She looked so rueful, yet had such an imp of mischief dancing behind her solemnity that Judith was obliged to laugh. "I wish you will sit down! Have you breakfasted?"

Barbara dropped into a chair. "No. I don't, you know." She sighed. "Life is using me very hardly today. You will say that is my own fault, but it is nevertheless monstrous that when I do mean to be good, to make amends, I must needs oversleep."

After a moment's hesitation, Judith said: "You refer, I recollect, to your picnic scheme?"

"Of course. I wanted to tell Charles I was only funning."

"You do not mean to go, then!"

"No."

"I am so glad! I was completely taken in, I confess."

"Oh no! I did mean to go - yesterday! But Gussie -" She broke off, grinding her teeth together.

"Your sister-in-law advised you against the scheme?"

"On the contrary!" said Barbara, with an angry little laugh.

"I don't think I quite understand?"

"I daresay you might not. She had the infernal impudence to approve of it. She will be a famous matchmaking mama for her daughters one of these days."

"Can you mean that she wishes you to marry the Comte de Lavisse?" gasped Judith.

"Most earnestly. Ah, you are astonished. You are not acquainted with my family."

"But your engagement to my brother! She could not wish to see that broken!"

"Why not?"

"A solemn promise - the scandal!"

Barbara burst out laughing. "Oh, you're enchanting when you're shocked! An outraged goddess, no less! But you must learn to know my family better. We don't care for scandal."

"Then why do you forgo your picnic?" demanded Judith.

"I don't know. To spite Gussie - to please Charles! Both, perhaps."

This answer was not encouraging. Judith was silent for a moment. She stole a glance at Barbara's face, and of impulse said: "Do you love him?" The words were no sooner uttered than regretted. Such a question was an impertinence; she was not on terms of sufficient intimacy with Barbara to allow of its having been asked.

Flushing, she awaited the snub she felt herself to have earned. But Barbara replied merely: "Yes."

"I should not have asked you," Judith apologised.

"It's of no consequence. I daresay you wish that Charles had never met me. I should, in your place. I'm horrid, you know. I told him so, but he wouldn't listen to me. I never loved anyone before, I think."

This remark accorded so ill with her reputation that Judith looked rather taken aback.

Barbara gave a gurgle of irrepressible amusement. "Are you recalling my flirtations? They don't signify, vou know. I flirt to amuse myself, but the truth is that I never fancied myself in love with anyone but Charles."

"I beg your pardon, but to fancy yourself in love could surely be the only justification for flirting!"

"Oh, stuffl" Barbara said. "Flirtation is delightful; being in love, quite disagreeable."

"I never found it so!"

"Truly?"

Judith considered for a moment. "No. At least - yes, I suppose sometimes it can be disagreeable. There is a certain pain - for foolish causes."

"Ah, you are not so stupid after all! I hate pain. Yes, and I hate to submit, as I am doing now, over this tiresome picnic!"

"That I understand perfectly!" Judith said. "But you do not submit to Charles; he made no such demand! Your submission is to your own judgment."

"Oh no! I don't go because Charles does not wish it. How tame! Don't talk of it! It makes me cross! I want _o go. I am bored to death!"

"Well, why should you not?" Judith said, as an idea presented itself to her. "A party of pleasure - there could be no objection! If you will accept of my company, I will go with you."

"Go with me?" said Barbara. "In Lavisse's place?"

"No such thing! You may ride with the Count; I shall drive with my sister, Lady Taverner. I am persuaded she would delight in the expedition. I daresay my brother will join us as well."

The green eyes looked blankly for a moment, then grew vivid with laughter. "Thus turning a tete-a-tete into the most sedate of family parties! Oh, I must do it, if only for the fun of seeing Etienne's dismay!"

"Would you not care for it?" said Judith, a little dashed.

"Of all things!" Barbara sprang up. "It's for tomorrow. We start early, and lunch at this Chateau Etienne talks of. It will be charming! Thank you a thousand times!"

Chapter Nine

The weather remaining fine, and the Taverners ,declaring themselves to be very ready to join the picnic, the whole party assembled in the Rue Ducale the next morning. As Lady Taverner's situation made riding Ineligible for her, Judith, who would have preferred to have gone on horseback, was obliged to drive with her in an open barouche. Sir Peregrine bestrode a showy chestnut, and Barbara, as usual, rode the Count's Coup dz Grace.

Upon her first setting out Judith had felt perfectly atisfied with her own appearance. She was wearing a round robe, under a velvet pelisse of Sardinian blue. A high-crowned bonnet, lined with silk and ornamented with a frilled border of lace, gloves of French kid, a sealskin muff, and half boots of Jean, completed a very becoming toilet. Beside her sister-in-law, who had chosen to wear drab merino cloth over olive-brown muslin, she looked elegant indeed, but from the moment of Barbara's descending the steps of the house in the Rue Ducale she felt herself to have been cast quite in the shade.

Barbara was wearing a habit of pale green, resembling the dress of a hussar. Her coat was ornamented with row upon row of frogs and braiding: silver epaulettes set off her shoulders; and silver braiding stretched half way up her arms. Under the habit, she wore a cambric shirt with a high-standing collar trimmed with lace; a cravat of worked muslin way tied round her throat; and there were narrow ruffles at her wrists. Set jauntily on her flaming head was a tall hat, like a shako, with a plume of feathers adding the final touch of audacity to a preposterous but undeniably striking costume.