"I beg your pardon, madam," said Lynborough, "but if it does not incommode you, would you have the great kindness to permit me to open the gate?"
"Oh, I'm sorry; but this is a private path leading to Nab Grange. I suppose you're a stranger in these parts?"
"My name is Lynborough. I live at Scarsmoor there."
"Are you Lord Lynborough?" Norah sounded exceedingly interested. "The Lord Lynborough?"
"There's only one, so far as I'm aware," the owner of the title answered.
"I mean the one who has done all those—those—well, those funny things?"
"I rejoice if the recital of them has caused you any amusement. And now, if you will permit me——"
"Oh, but I can't! Helena would never forgive me. I'm a friend of hers, you know—of the Marchesa di San Servolo. Really you can't come through here."
"Do you think you can stop me?"
"There isn't room for you to get over as long as I stand here—and the wall's too high to climb, isn't it?"