He smoked in silence for a moment.
"Live? I scarcely know; she is everywhere. In London in the season, visiting in country houses at other times. There is not a house in England where she would not be received with a welcome accorded to princes. It is rather strange that she should be down here just now; the season has commenced, most of the visitors have left the Hall, some of them to be in their places in Parliament. It is rather strange that she should have come down at this time."
Stella colored, and a feeling of vague irritation took possession of her—why, she scarcely knew.
"I should think that everyone would be glad to come to Wyndward Hall at any time—even Lady Lenore Beauchamp," she said, in a low voice.
He nodded.
"Wyndward Hall is a fine place," he said, slowly, "but Lady Lenore is accustomed to—well, to palaces. There is not a ball-room in London where her absence will not be noticed. It is strange. Perhaps"—and he smiled—"Lady Wyndward has some motive."
"Some motive?" repeated Stella, turning her eyes toward him. "What motive can she have?"
"There is Leycester," he said, musingly.
"Leycester?"
The word was out of her lips before she was aware of it, and a vivid crimson dyed her face.