"Fancy!" murmured Sir Caryll.
"It's the marquis, you know. It's my most valuable possession. Mr. Telborn adores me for my devotion to dear Highshire's memory." Marvel of marvels, it was the marchioness, then! "He says it shows the true woman. He'll gladly replace everything I've lost twice over." She sighed deeply. "But I'd be tempted to give the photograph for a cigarette at this minute," she added disconsolately.
"Let me try for you," said Carleigh, dropping off his mossy boulder. "Did you ask Mrs. Darling?"
The Marchioness of Highshire lifted her hands, the photograph with them. "Then you don't know?" she asked in surprise.
"Don't know?" he echoed with sinking heart. "Don't know what?" Her tone had filled him with a sudden terror. Could it be—
"She's burned—very badly burned. They've taken her over to Cross Saddle Hall."
"Nina burned!" he gasped. "Good God!"
"Yes, isn't it awful? I thought every one knew. They can't say how serious it is. They fear she inhaled flames, and in that case, of course—"
"Oh, no, no!" he cried. "I won't believe it."
The eyes of the marchioness lighted. Sir Caryll was so delightfully ingenuous.