"A glass of brandy, then," Marianne said desperately.

"A cup of tea will be splendid." The Duchess brushed her hand across her brow and spoke in almost her normal voice. "There. I am quite myself again. Let us eat all those delicious little cakes and drink our tea and have a game of backgammon. What do you say?"

Marianne felt as if the rich pastry would make her sick, and she went down to ignominious defeat in the game. The Duchess ignored her mood. She laughed and ate and moved the pieces with her old animation. To Marianne the spectacle was dreadful. The promise she had made lay like a heavy weight on her heart.

She knew now that she had clung to the hope that she would not be forced to go through the next – perhaps the last – attempt to reach the spirit of David Holmes; that the Duchess would not ask it of her, that Gruffstone would forbid it, that Carlton would think of some means of preventing it. Now she was committed. That agonized plea could not be denied. Only how on earth could she produce the evidence the Duchess longed for? Should she attempt to produce it by trickery? It seemed that whatever she did was bound to be disastrous.

The Duchess decided to dine in her room, and Marianne did the same. She simply could not face the glum looks of the two men, or Lady Annabelle's idiot indifference. After she had crumbled her bread and pushed the food around her plate, she decided to see what Henry was doing. Perhaps she could read him a story, or play chess with him.

She was wearing soft house slippers and her feet fell lightly on the carpet of the corridor. As she approached the door of the schoolroom, she saw light and realized that the door was open. Standing unseen in its shadow she beheld the scene within.

Lady Violet sat by the fire. For once she wore no veil or cap, and her hair was pushed back from her face, which wore a look of such peace and happiness that to Marianne it appeared quite beautiful, despite its physical defect. Perched on a stool by the lady's side, leaning against her skirts, sat the young Duke. He was reading aloud to her, and her hand rested lightly on his dark hair.

"So the prince said, 'Oh, lovely lady, I have been searching throughout my kingdom for a maiden who can wear this slipper.' "

Marianne felt tears prick her eyes. Pressing her skirts close to her sides, so that no betraying rustle would give her presence away, she retreated as silently as she had come.

Next day Marianne had to force herself to pay her usual morning call on the Duchess. One of the worst features of the whole affair was the growing ambivalence of her attitude toward her kind patroness, for she felt an increasing resentment, almost anger, at being forced into such an impossible position. She made her escape as soon as she could.

Henry was waiting for her, and they had another strenuous game of lawn tennis. Marianne finally called a halt when her fingers, in their thin kid gloves, became too numb to hold the racket. The day was much colder than the one before, and toward the end of the morning the sunlight vanished behind rolling gray clouds.

"It looks like snow." Henry said gleefully. "We will build a snow fort and go sledding. I know a splendid place for it."

Marianne was amused at the boy's bland assumption that she had become his permanent playmate. There was no reason to disillusion him, she thought; reality would come soon enough, in the form of a new tutor, for the Duchess had told her she expected to interview another candidate that morning.

Looking for something to distract her mind from the dread event that was coming even closer, she lingered in the hall hoping to catch a glimpse of the prospective tutor. Any new face would be a welcome change.

She was about to give up and go to her room to change when the door of the library opened and Carlton appeared. He gave an exaggerated start of surprise at seeing her and exclaimed, "Oh, there you are. I was about to… that is… where have you been?"

Marianne gazed at him in astonishment. His incoherent speech, his flushed face, and a certain air of suppressed excitement immediately aroused the suspicion that he had been drinking. Before she could answer he took her by the arm and fairly dragged her into the library.

"This is Mr. MacGregor," he said, indicating the young man who had politely risen from his chair. "Miss Ransom, Mr. MacGregor. Perhaps you would – er – entertain him, I must… I must go on an errand."

Upon which he rushed out, leaving Marianne staring. An amused chuckle from Mr. MacGregor made her turn.

"What an excitable, enthusiastic fellow!" he exclaimed. "But I can't complain of the change; may I offer you a chair, Miss Ransom?"

Marianne sat down. Mr. MacGregor must be the newest applicant for the position of tutor, she decided.

She took an immediate liking to him. He was a tall young man with an open, freckled face. One of his front teeth was chipped, giving his smile a boyish, lopsided charm. His speech was educated, with just a trace of Scottish burr.

"What was that all about?" she asked, nodding at the door through which Carlton had disappeared.

"I cannot imagine. We were talking about this and that, when all at once he bounded up and rushed away. I take it he is not always so impulsive? It is an attractive quality in itself, but I should think it would be a disadvantage in a man of the law."

His eyes twinkled with such frank amusement that Marianne could not help smiling. "I take it," she said, "that you are the new tutor."

"I hope I may be. The position appeals to me very much. My home is in Sterling, only an hour's ride away, and I have a widowed mother who would like to have me so close. Also, I find the Duke a most appealing little chap. There is a good brain there; it would be a challenge to work with it."

Marianne liked him more and more. The enthusiasm glowing in his eyes was that of a dedicated teacher.

"You know of His Grace's – difficulty?" she inquired.

"Yes, the Duchess was very candid with me. It merely makes me more eager to take the position. Epilepsy is a much misunderstood illness. I was a medical student before I turned to teaching, so I feel I can be of help there."

"Why did you give it up? It is a noble profession."

"Healing the body? Certainly! But healing the mind, developing its gifts, is surely just as important. Besides," he added, with a grin, "I had no aptitude for medicine. Every time a knife cut into human flesh, living or not, I fainted dead away. It got to be a joke, and my fellow students enjoyed dragging me out of the room by my heels, but the professors began to be irritated by my crashing down unconscious in the middle of their demonstrations. So I gave it up."

Marianne was enjoying the conversation, and would have gone on with it, had not the ringing of the luncheon bell reminded her of the time.

"Are you joining us for lunch?" she asked.

"No, I thank you." MacGregor rose. "I have a cold ride ahead of me, and the weather threatens. I hope we may meet again, Miss Ransom."

"I hope so too," Marianne said sincerely.

She went in to luncheon and immediately demanded of Carlton what Mr. MacGregor's prospects were. "I liked him very much," she declared. "I think he would be good for Henry."

"Do you indeed," said Carlton, with a malevolent look. "You favor freckles and a Scottish burr, then?"

"I was not speaking of his personal attributes," Marianne said in a dignified manner. "But of his qualifications for the post."

"The Duchess was most impressed with him," Dr. Gruffstone said, forestalling another rude comment from the lawyer.

His efforts to keep the conversation pleasant were in vain, however. Carlton was in a perverse mood and kept interjecting remarks that seemed designed to be inflammatory. He contradicted almost everything that was said, and found matter for insult in the most innocuous subjects. He even provoked the doctor by derogatory remarks about his profession.