his Grace went on, and now he was grave again, and had even fallen
into a speculative tone. "But it struck me once that I heard of
her--though she is no fit companion for you yet--and Heaven knows if
she ever will be. The path before her is too full of traps for safety."

Roxholm did not speak. Whether fond of women or not, he was not given
to talking of them, and a certain reserve would have prevented his
entering upon any discussion of the future Lady Roxholm, whomsoever she
might in the future prove to be. He stood in an easy attitude, watching
with some vague curiosity the expression of his chief's countenance.
But suddenly he found himself checking a slight start, and this was
occasioned by his Lordship's next words.

"In the future I shall take pains to hear what befalls her," the Duke
said. "In two or three years' time we shall hear somewhat. She will
marry a duke--be a King's mistress, or go to ruin in some less splendid
and more tragic way. No woman is born into the world with such beauty
as they say is hers, and such wild fire in her veins, without setting
the world--or herself--in flames. A new Helen of Troy she may be, and
yet she is but the ninth daughter of a drunken Gloucestershire
baronet."

'Twas here that Roxholm found himself checking his start, but he had
not checked it soon enough to escape the observance of the quickest
sighted man in Europe.

"What!" he said, "you have heard of her?"

"I have seen her, your Grace," Roxholm answered, "on the hunting field
in Gloucestershire."