It was the dog that gave away the identity of the group to the duke. He reined his horse to a walk as he drew closer, and approached the scene with all the nonchalance of one for whom such a scene is a daily occurrence.

"Down, Brutus,- old fellow," he commanded in a bored voice, and the huge canine, who had caused much of the commotion, according to the loud opinion of the bystanders, dropped on the spot and panted loudly, adoring eyes raised to its master. Miss Manford was released from the immediate danger of having her arms pulled from their sockets.

"Phil, are you planning to join the rest of us on terra firma some time this morning?" Eversleigh continued, raising his quizzing glass and gazing upward at his brother-in-law, who was clinging to a branch of a large oak tree.

"I'm not stuck, sir," Philip hastened to assure Eversleigh. "But that cat is." He pointed to a thin and scraggly little creature clinging pathetically to a branch. "I have to move carefully because the branch gets pretty thin out there. And, Pen, for the dozenth time, move away from there. If I fall, you won't help me at all, but I will, flatten you."

"I'm here to catch the kitten," Penelope explained indignantly.

"The little lad will fall for sure," a buxom woman carrying a large, covered basket warned, "and all for a stray cat. Call 'im down, sir.

Eversleigh ignored her. "Move back, Penny, until there is something to catch," he advised. "Go ahead, Phil. The branch is strong enough."

Most eyes were turned on the little drama. Eversleigh withdrew his; he did not feel that his brother-in-law was in any grave danger.

"Having a spot of trouble, Oliver?" he asked affably, swinging his glass in the direction of his cousin, who had already picked himself out of the mud, but who was gazing down at his thoroughly blackened cream buckskins with arms outstretched, not quite knowing how to clean himself up without; soiling his hands. He rounded on the duke in fury.

"If you do not keep that dog confined to the house, and if you do not exercise greater control over these totally undisciplined brats," he said, voice shaking, I shall shoot it."

"Dear me," replied his cousin mildly, I understand from your choice of pronoun that you mean the dog, not the twins, Oliver?"

Cranshawe glared. "You might make yourself useful and grab my horse, Marius," he said, "instead of sitting up there striking a pose."

"Ah," Eversleigh said, I take it you did not dismount voluntarily, then, Oliver?" He obligingly moved off to where Cranshawe's horse was now grazing quietly on the grass, and led him back to his heir, who was disgustedly slapping -it his mud-caked breeches.

Eversleigh turned his attention to his wife, who was staring intently into the tree where Philip was now little more than an arm's length from the shivering kitten.

"You are all right, my love?" he asked gently.

She turned a stony expression on him. "And why would I not be?" she asked.

"Ah, quite so," he agreed. "You need not worry, you know. Boys are almost invariably a great deal safer than they appear to be to adult onlookers."

"I know that!" she retorted scornfully, and dismounted suddenly after swinging her leg free of the sidesaddle. "Hang on, Phil!" she yelled. "You can't hold on to the cat and get back from there. I'll climb up and you can hand it to me."

Before the onlookers had a chance to dissuade her, she had swung up to the lower branches, long skirt and all, though she did tug impatiently at the plumed hat and send it to the ground.

" 'Ere, 'ere, lady, that's man's work," the constable remarked ineffectually when she was already well clear of the ground, but everyone ignored him.

When Henry came down again, five minutes later, clutching a mewing kitten in one arm, face smudged with dirt, hemline of her habit hanging down, it was to find Marius directly beneath her, on foot.

"Hand down the kitten, Henry," he ordered, and she obeyed before she had time to think of defiance. He took it and handed it immediately to an eager Penelope. Then lie turned back, raised his arms, and grasped his wife by the waist. He swung her down to the ground, so that her body slid down the length of his. She felt physically ill as she glared indignantly up into his gleaming eyes.

"I could have jumped," she said as Philip did just that right behind her.

"I don't doubt it for a moment, my love," Eversleigh agreed soothingly, the gleam in his eyes deepening. "I must look a fright," she said crossly.

"I think you look rather charming, my love, with it smudge on your nose and a twig in your hair," he commented languidly.

"Oh!" she said. "Well, you should be thankful for the twig, your Grace. At least I am not committing that mortal. sin of going hatless again."

"Your Grace!" Penelope was plucking at Eversleigh's sleeve, interrupting an interesting scene. "Please may we keep the kitten? I am sure the little thing is a stray, and Phil and I will look after it. Please!"

"Well," he said, "it would seem hardly charitable to rescue the poor thing from one danger only to let it starve on firm ground. Very well, Penny."

"Oh, thank you, your Grace," Penelope yelled. "I am going to call her Cleopatra."

Eversleigh blinked. "As you will," he said tolerantly, "but I fail to see the connection." He surveyed the thin, ugly ginger kitten through his quizzing glass. "I believe we have provided the city of London with quite enough entertainment for one morning," he continued quietly. "I see that Oliver agrees with me and has taken himself off already. Miss Manford, can you head this menagerie homeward? Phil, you take charge of Brutus, if you please. My love?" He stilled Henry's horse, and when she would have placed her booted foot in his hand so that she might mount, he grasped her by the waist again and lifted her effortlessly to the saddle.

Henry could feel the imprint of his hands all the way home as they rode side by side, making small talk. He made no reference to the fact that she had obviously been' with Oliver Cranshawe before the family farce had begun.

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The morning's activities were not forgotten by any of the actors in it. Henry spent most of the afternoon in her room, after canceling plans she had made to do a round of visiting. She had a very serious decision to make, and although she knew what that decision would have to be, there still seemed to be a great deal of thinking to do.

She had met Oliver in the park and had talked with him for five minutes before the arrival of the twins and Miss Manford on the scene. Oliver had taken on the tone of his letter, profoundly apologetic, disclaiming all responsibility for what he had said the night before on the grounds that he had drunk too much. But Henry had lost all faith in his words. He claimed to care for her deeply, to be worried about her marriage to "a man like Marius." He wished to see her again, alone, so that he might redeem himself in her eyes. Henry could see only the truth. Here was a man who hated her husband and who hated her for being the chief threat to his position as Marius' heir. He wished to ruin her so that Marius would divorce her or at the very least send her away. Either would suit Oliver's purposes. In either case, there would be no children to succeed the Duke of Eversleigh. And Henry, with childish naivete, had played right into his hands. Oh, why had she not seen through the hypocrisy of his charm? Why had she not gone straight to Marius with her worries over Giles?

Henry threw herself facedown across the bed. She racked her brain for some solution to the dilemma, apart from the one that she was trying not to face. She had managed to escape any commitment this morning, thanks to the strange appearance of the twins. And that was strange, now that site came to think of it. What were they all doing in the park at that time of the morning? Were they not usually at their classes? However it had happened, she had been very grateful for the distraction. But she did not have any hope that Cranshawe would be put off for long. It was only a matter of time before he again forced her into a clandestine meeting.

Henry considered talking to Giles, but she knew she would not be able to bring herself to destroy his peace of mind. She saw him frequently, and he seemed to be quite happy. He did the social rounds, but it seemed to her that he had learned his lesson. He no longer associated with the crowd of wild dandies that had led him into gambling and irresponsible spending. If be was in debt again, she would be surprised.At least there was no sign from him. He treated her with open affection. Henry had been close to her brother all her life. She would have known if something were troubling him. No, she could not go to him with her dilemma.

There was, in fact, only one way out, Henry admitted tp herself with a sigh. She propped her chin on her hands and stared gloomily down at the brocade coverlet of her bed. Somehow, she had to get the money to repay the loan to Cranshawe. Only then would she be free of that horrid man. And there was, alas, only one way to get the money, unless she applied to Marius for it. Since she would rather die than go to him now, she would have to go to a moneylender.

The very thought filled her with terror. She had heard many stories of the fate of young men who were unwise enough to get into the clutches of moneylenders. (It seemed that ladies never went to them.) The story was that once a man borrowed money, he never repaid it. All the money he could scrape together went toward paying off the crippling interest on their loans.