At this instant an elderly lady of demure appearance was observed, to walk up to the lych-gate and enter the churchyard. Lynborough inquired of his companion who she was.
"That's Miss Gilletson from the Grange, my lord—the Marchesa's companion."
"Is it?" said Lynborough softly. "Oh, is it indeed?" He rose from his seat. "Good-by, Dawson. Mind—a dead secret, and a rattling good lunch!"
"I'll attend to it, my lord," Dawson assured him with the utmost cheerfulness. Never had Dawson invested a glass of beer to better profit!
Lynborough threw away his cigar and entered the sacred precincts. His brain was very busy. "Another wedge!" he was saying to himself. "Another wedge!"
The lady had gone into the church. Lynborough went in too. He came first on Stabb—on his hands and knees, examining one of the old brasses and making copious notes in a pocket-book.
"Have you seen a lady come in, Cromlech?" asked Lord Lynborough.
"No, I haven't," said Cromlech, now producing a yard measure and proceeding to ascertain the dimensions of the brass.
"You wouldn't, if it were Venus herself," replied Lynborough pleasantly. "Well, I must look for her on my own account."
He found her in the neighborhood of his family monuments which, with his family pew, crowded the little chancel of the church. She was not employed in devotions, but was arranging some flowers in a vase—doubtless a pious offering. Somewhat at a loss how to open the conversation, Lynborough dropped his hat—or rather gave it a dexterous jerk, so that it fell at the lady's feet. Miss Gilletson started violently, and Lord Lynborough humbly apologized. Thence he glided into conversation, first about the flowers, then about the tombs. On the latter subject he was exceedingly interesting and informing.