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"Dear Lady Marian, tell us what it is," she asked, in soothing tones.

"I know not," said Marian, faintly. "I think it must have been that evil stuff called potatoes. As soon as I had swallowed it I felt a giddiness, my head whirled, and I have heard it hath subtle and dangerous qualities."

"It couldn't have been the potatoes, do you think?" said Mrs. Van Tromp. "Perhaps it was the ale."

"Thou art a fool," responded Marian, tartly. "Dost thou think a Howard de Winstanley so lily-livered that one poor beaker of ale—and weak at that—could do this mischief?"

Mrs. Van Tromp was considerably nettled by this speech, but the name Howard de Winstanley had not lost its magic.

"Let us get out of here," said Macfarren, hurriedly; and, Marian rising, he offered her his arm, and, with Mrs. Van Tromp on the other side, they went out of the dining-room as they had entered it, and, as before, were the cynosure of all eyes.

When they reached the corridor, Macfarren realized that he must have a little while to think before taking another step. What to do with his fair protégée was troubling him excessively; and so, to gain at least a few minutes' time, he proposed that they should enter a little alcove at the end of the main hall, where a tiny fire crackled cheerfully. So he led the way, and Marian sank on the luxurious sofa, while Mrs. Van Tromp drew up a chair, and, spreading wide her gorgeous fan of peacocks' feathers, settled herself to hear all about King's Lyndon.