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along in a merry swarm of caps, bonnets, feathers, and top hats and descending upon the house in Grosvenor Square that morning at half past twelve. As they approached the Paragon’s dwelling, they cheerfully admired other stately homes, for Grosvenor Square was circled by famous dwellings. Although the Georgian townhouses they passed were near palatial, the company was never more admiring than when they reached number 25—Ariana’s future home.
    They stopped to survey the stately building of Portland Stone. Sucharchitectural details! Such carvings and moulded stonework! Intricate plasterwork. Wonderful portico and pillared frontage. All was elegant, neat, and classical. Ariana smiled and nodded, giggling now and then at the sheer exuberance of the company and how they were all so eager to be pleased. She enjoyed the beauty of Mr. Mornay’s house herself—indeed marveled at it—but she felt rather like a mother hen in a barnyard full of cheeping, trailing chicks. She would have to lead these chicks through the entire three-storey structure, as well as the garret and basement kitchens and service area. To the rear of the house were stables and coach and mews houses—were they also to be toured? She hoped she had the energy.

    So intent was the little group on admiring the stately mansion that no one noticed an old black coach parked at the curb of the square. It was a little farther down and across the street from house number 25, with a pair of sorry-looking nags harnessed in front. Behind the equipage, the equestrian statue of George I stood high and dignified—and ignored.
    Generally such equipages were not seen in the vicinity of Grosvenor Square, and on another day, it might have elicited curiosity. But the jolly group admiring the Paragon’s house paid it no mind whatsoever. From inside the coach, the two faces peeking covertly out at the company were very much on the alert. They were intensely scrutinizing the arrivals on the sidewalk, mindful to see but not be seen.
    â€œI knew this vigil would pay off,” said the elder of the two.
    The other suddenly cried, “I say ’tis Miss Herley!”
    â€œTo the devil with Miss Herley!” came the caustic response. “She’s done with you. Which is the one we want?” There was a pause, while the first speaker swallowed his pride and no small distress. Was Miss Herley indeed done with him? But of course she was. That’s what this was all about! He looked glumly at the merry-looking company, with Miss Forsythe clearly visible near the head of the party.
    â€œShe’s there, wearing the white and yellow, next to Miss Herley.”
    Ariana and Lavinia were engrossed in an animated dialogue, and Ariana laughed at a small joke her friend told. Her face shone prettily with youth and happiness.
    The other gave a low whistle. “A prime article, indeed.”
    â€œI told you she was top o’ the trees. Only I wish there was another way!”

    â€œDon’t get pasty-faced. You’re stronger when you’re in your cups. We’ve agreed on this, haven’t we?”
    The younger one nodded reluctantly.
    â€œThere’s nothing left for us, in any case. We’ve nothing to lose, and I daresay we shall exact a pretty penny for that piece of work.”
    â€œNothing to lose?” said the first. “Only our heads, I suppose.”
    â€œDon’t be such a gull!” came the disgusted response. “Who’s that young chit? Just a girl.”
    The younger man reluctantly tore his eyes from Miss Lavinia Herley, whom he had not seen for some few weeks now and studied the youngest member of the promenade.
    â€œMust be a sister. She’s not a Herley.”
    â€œAs I thought. Hmmm, if the elder one is trouble, we can always take the younger. Her absence might provoke stronger feelings altogether, in fact.”
    But the younger man was paying little heed to his brother. His eyes