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point she was startled by the discovery that a young lady and two gentlemen seated nearby were watching her. The lady and the military gentleman looked away at once, but the second gentleman continued to stare at her, his brows haughtily arched, his dark eyes bold. Lud, but he was a handsome creature. And very aware of it to judge by that arrogant manner. But perhaps, even with the veil, they had recognized her. Perhaps they knew about her brother's shameful death; and about poor Papa's ruinous attempts to prove his son's innocence. She turned her head away in time to see Thorpe galloping towards her, laughing, and calling over his shoulder that Miss Grace must make haste to see the cows.
    "Oh, do take care!" cried Mrs. Allington, coming to her feet hurriedly.
    She was too late. The tall, gaunt, but extremely elegant matron who had just passed by was proceeding towards the Prince and her attention was no more on the boy than his was on her. Her footman, whose eyes had lingered upon a pretty nursemaid, gave a shout, but he also was too late.
    A violent collision. A shriek. A small, frightened face turned to the widow. A torrent of infuriated accusation capped by a sharp box on the ear.
    Mrs. Allington hastened to the debacle, and slipped an arm about the boy. Thorpe shrank against her skirts, one hand pressed to his reddened cheek.
    "I apologize for the accident, ma'am," said the widow angrily. "But you had no right to—"
    "
Right
?" screamed the victim, turning a rageful countenance. "So you are the little monster's mama, are you? I do not scruple to tell you that he should be—"
    "He did not mean to run into you." The widow raised her voice a trifle. "And there was no—"
    "Do not dare to interrupt, you impertinent creature! I will say again that this vicious young ruffian—"
    "He is not a ruffian, but—"
    "—all but knocked me down!" Inspecting the rich green silk of her wide-hooped skirts even as she spoke, she uttered another shriek. "Ah! He has muddied my gown!
Insufferable
little beast!"
    "If you would but moderate your tone, madam, I—"
    "
Moderate
my
tone
, is it! That you dare say such a thing to me is a fair indication of your lack of manners and breeding! And only
look
at my reticule! Hackham, fetch the Park Keeper! People like these should not be allowed…"
    On and on she went, her harsh tones attracting attention so that every head was turned their way.
    Her warm heart touched, Gwendolyn Rossiter said, "Oh, how awful for her! August, do go and see if you cannot calm that dreadful woman!"
    With an incredulous stare, Falcon enquired, "Are you run mad? Even were I so inclined, which I am not, I've no least intent to come within range of
that
female!"
    Lieutenant Morris asked curiously, "A formidable lady? Should I know her?"
    "Not if you can help it," said Gwendolyn with her customary bluntness. " 'Tis Lady Clara Buttershaw. An odious woman. August, you know very well she fairly hangs on your lips. One word from you and she would cease persecuting that poor widow. Have you no compassion for your fellow man?"
    "Precisely as much as my fellow man has for me. And as for allowing that skirted adder to flirt with me—I thank you, no! Let the widow fend for herself." He stood, and bowed with easy grace. "In point of fact, I refuse to share the same park with her noble ladyship. Adieu."
    "Heartless coward!" hissed Gwendolyn as he strolled off.
    Falcon laughed and waved airily, but continued on his way.
    Turning to the apprehensive lieutenant, Gwendolyn pleaded, "Jamie—you are so kind. Only listen how she screeches, the wretch! And she has sent her footman to fetch the Keeper. You
cannot
allow that poor widow to be so publicly humiliated."
    The lieutenant whimpered and quailed. And, of course, a minute later, was asking Lady Buttershaw in a scared voice if he could "be of some assistance?"
    The widow, very pale, threw him a grateful glance.
    Lady Buttershaw rounded on him, flushed and raging. "I think we have not