incent was the first of Matthew’s two sons to reach Darracott Place, driving himself in a curricle to which were harnessed three magnificent black geldings, randem-tandem; and by the time that Richmond, who had been on the watch for him, let out a halloo, and exclaimed: “Here’s my cousin at last! Oh, he’s driving unicorn! He’s the most complete hand!” even Mrs. Darracott, with whom Vincent was no favourite, felt a certain measure of relief. In her view, Vincent was a dangerous blade, with a viperous tongue, and a deplorable influence over her impressionable young son; but after spending three hours in an atmosphere of deepening gloom, she would have been much inclined to have welcomed the arrival of Beelzebub himself. My lord having shut himself up in the library, it had fallen to her lot to entertain his guests: an exercise which consisted of lending a sympathetic ear to Matthew’s complaints, rhetorical questions, and dire forebodings. Not a very arduous task, it might have been thought; but Mrs. Darracott (like her son) was impressionable, and long before Matthew had talked himself into a more cheerful frame of mind the depression which hung over him had communicated itself to her, quite sinking her spirits, and exhausting her vitality. Every effort to introduce another topic of conversation than the blighting of Matthew’s prospects failed: he returned mechanical answers only, and at the first opportunity returned to the grievance that possessed his mind.

Anthea too was glad to know that Vincent had arrived. She had not been subjected to so severe a strain as her mother, but she had been obliged, after Lady Aurelia had rested for an hour on her bed to recover from the rigours of her journey, to escort that rather formidable lady on a stately and prolonged tour of the gardens. In her youth, Lady Aurelia had been an enthusiastic gardener; since her marriage she had had no other home than a tall, narrow house in Mayfair, but she had forgotten none of the botanical lore so zealously acquired, and was perfectly ready to place it at the disposal of the various friends and relations whom it was her custom to visit (often for weeks at a time) during the summer months. She never uttered an adverse criticism, but her hostesses had been known to uproot whole borders only because she had said, with flat civility, “Very pretty;” and her way of ignoring the presence of a weed could cover the hardiest with shame. Anthea, no horticulturist, had much to endure, but she was spared the trials her mother was forced to undergo. Beyond stating, in a voice totally devoid either of sympathy or interest, that her husband was sadly put out by the appearance on the scene of the rightful heir, Lady Aurelia made no reference whatsoever to the event which filled the minds of the Darracotts. She did not say it, but no one blessed with a modicum of intelligence could have doubted that to an Earl’s daughter the succession to a mere barony was a matter of indifference.

Her peregrinations had brought her within sight of the avenue which led from the crumbling stone entrance-gates to the north front of the house, when Vincent’s natty curricle swept into view. The arrival of her eldest-born seemed to be a matter of equal indifference to her, but she raised no objection to Anthea’s suggestion that they should go to meet him. Before they had reached the avenue, Richmond had bounded out of the house, and was standing beside the curricle, smiling a little shyly up at his magnificent cousin. “What a hand you are! I have been watching for you this hour and more!”

The Corinthian in the curricle looked down at him, his brows lifting in exaggerated surprise. “But, my dear boy, you surely cannot have supposed that even I could accomplish more than sixty-two miles in less than five hours? Our beloved Regent, I would remind you, took four- and-a-half hours on his memorable dash to Brighton, and that road, you know, was vastly superior to this, even in those archaic times. Or did you think that my eagerness to reach the home of my ancestors—not, I apprehend, to be one day my own—would set me on the road before I had swallowed my breakfast?”

Richmond laughed. “No! Oh, lord, what a curst thing it is!—you to be cut out by this miserable fellow from Yorkshire! But what’s this new quirk, Vincent? You were always used to drive that bang-up team of grays in your curricle! Is it now the high kick of fashion to drive— unicorn, do you call it?”

“Yes,—or Sudden Death,” replied Vincent, transferring the reins into the hands of his groom. “And no, little cousin, you may not drive them. We have had enough sudden deaths in the family.”

From no one but Vincent would Richmond have tolerated such a form of address, but a cousin, nearly ten years his senior, who, in addition to being carelessly kind to him, was a buck of the first cut, might bestow whatever opprobrious epithet upon him which happened to occur to him. He protested, but with a grin; and before Vincent could roast him into defending hotly his ability to drive any number of horses, Lady Aurelia and Anthea had come up to the group.

“Well, Vincent!” said Lady Aurelia.

He had climbed down from the curricle, and he now swept off his-beaver, bowed, and with incomparable grace kissed first her hand, and then her cheek. “My dear Mama! Ah, and my dear cousin Anthea as well! A double pleasure!”

“And so unexpected!” she retorted, shaking hands with him.

His eyes glinted at her. “I never expect to find each time I come, here that you are in greater beauty than the last time I saw you. It is really quite remarkable.”

She was not in the least disconcerted by this, but only laughed, and said: “Yes, and I so stricken in years! Remarkable indeed! Where is your brother? Did you chance to see him on the road?”

“Now, that puts me in mind of something that causes me to feel the gravest concern!” he exclaimed. “I did see him—in fact, I passed him, driving, as I can’t conceive, unless it might be that at the fatal moment my attention was diverted by the new lining he has had made for his chaise (maiden’s blush I believe that particular shade of pink is called), but I very much fear that I may have ditched him.”

Richmond burst into a crow of joy. “Lord, what a famous lark! I wish I might have seen it! Hunting the squirrel!”

“No, no, how can you say such a thing?” protested Vincent, in a pained voice. “How often have I told you that such tricks as that are not at all the thing? I wonder if I can be losing my precision of eye?”

“A stupid and ill-natured prank,” pronounced Lady Aurelia, with measured severity. “If I find that Claud has sustained any injury I shall be excessively displeased.” “Then I do most sincerely trust he has escaped injury, Mama. Unfortunately, a sharp bend in the road almost immediately hid the scene from my view, so I can give you no very certain information on that head. But never mind! Crimplesham is following me, with my luggage, you know, and I am sure we may depend upon him to render my brother all the assistance in his power. What is the time? Should I, do you think, present myself to my grandfather at once, or—No, I perceive that it lacks only ten minutes to five. I have brought my evening-dress with me, but it will take me quite an hour to dress without Crimplesham’s aid. You do still dine at six, I daresay? Such a depressing habit I find it! And my anxiety about Claud to make it worse! Poor fellow! But he shouldn’t have urged his

postboys to hold the road when I wished to give him the go-by: really, I think he almost deserves to sustain some injury for being so foolish!”

When Mrs. Darracott learned of this episode, which she very soon did, from Richmond, who could not keep such a good story to himself, she was much shocked. It all went to show, she told Anthea, that everything she had ever felt about Vincent had been correct: he showed an unsteadiness of character which she would be very sorry to see in any son of hers; his temper was jealous; he was idle and expensive; and, unless she much mistook the matter (which was not at all likely), he had such libertine propensities as must cause his poor father to suffer the gravest anxiety. Or, she amended, the penance she had undergone that afternoon still fresh in her memory, they would have done so if Matthew had the smallest regard for anything but his own troubles. A s for the stoic calm with which Lady Aurelia had received the news of what might well prove to have been a serious accident, that, said Mrs. Darracott, was something that quite passed her understanding. Had any son of hers been overturned into a ditch she would have had the horses put to immediately, and dashed to his rescue. She was extremely attached to Lady Aurelia, but it was impossible to forebear the thought that if Claud were to be presently borne into the house with his neck broken it would be a judgment on her.

But no judgment fell on Lady Aurelia. Claud, arriving at Darracott Place half-an-hour later, had sustained no injury, except to his temper. This, however, had been seriously impaired, and he complained so bitterly and at such length of the usage to which he had been subjected that his father lost patience, and said testily: “Oh, that’s enough, that’s enough! Vincent forced your near wheels into the ditch, and it cost you twenty minutes to haul the chaise back on to the road! Very vexing, but no harm done! If you’re at outs with Vincent, go and plant him a facer! Don’t come whining to me, like a sickly girl!”

Even Richmond, who wholeheartedly despised Claud, felt that this advice was unkind. His dislike of all forms of violence apart, Claud was both slighter and shorter than his brother: no match for him under any circumstances. He said, with pardonable indignation: “Dash it, he’d throw me out of the window!”

“Well, go away and change your dress!” said Matthew. “It won’t be Vincent, but your grandfather, who will throw you out of the window if you keep him waiting for his dinner!” This dreadful warning had the effect of sending Claud out of the room with much the mien and speed of a coursing hare. His father and Richmond both laughed, but Mrs. Darracott was moved to say that she thought the boy had been very unkindly treated. “Oh, pooh!” replied Matthew impatiently. “If he had ever had one half the tricks played on him which I had to endure when I was a lad it would have been the better for him! Besides, it’s his own fault, with his silly daintification, and his finicking ways. I don’t blame Vincent for making game of him!”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that making rough game of a younger brother was conduct quite unbecoming in a man of eight-and- twenty, but Matthew had begun to pout, and so she refrained, knowing as well as everyone else that the ill-will Vincent bore Claud was to some extent shared by him, and did not spring in either of them from any particular dislike of Claud’s dandyism.

Five years separated the brothers. In appearance they were not unalike, each having the aquiline nose and rather sunken eye which made them unmistakeable Darracotts; but Claud was by far the better-looking, his features being more delicate, his complexion less swarthy, and his countenance unmarred by the deep, almost sneering lines that characterized both Vincent and Lord Darracott. In general, Claud’s expression was one of slightly vacuous amiability; Vincent’s was sardonic, and frequently unpleasant.

In all but their features they were dissimilar. Vincent had a reckless intrepidity which drove him into all manner of dangerous exploits; Claud, though not (he hoped) hen-hearted, felt not the smallest impulse to ride straight at the worse oxer in the county, or to take the shine (at the risk of his neck) out of every other top-sawyer on the road; while as for putting on the gloves with Gentleman Jackson, there was almost nothing he less wished to do. But he was not without ambition. It was his ardent desire to become just such a leader of Fashion, such an arbiter of Taste, as Mr. Brummell had been, until so short a time ago. He grudged Vincent none of his fame as a member of the Corinthian set; it would not have gratified him in the least to be hailed as an out-and-outer, a regular dash, or a right cool fish: his heart was set on becoming the chief Pink of the Ton.

This ambition found no favour at all in the eyes of his parents, and would, indeed, have been impossible to realize had not a stroke of amazing good fortune befallen Claud. Hardly had he reached his majority when the maternal uncle after whom he had been named died, and left him the heir to a comfortable independence. Nothing then stood between him and the achievement of his goal but a want of genius. Try as he would he could neither create a new quirk of fashion, nor hit upon some original eccentricity which would make him instantly famous. He was obliged to exaggerate the prevailing mode, and to adopt as his own the tricks and mannerisms of other and more ingenious dandies, and somehow these expedients did not quite answer the purpose.

Vincent, of course, recognized every one of these plagiarisms, but what would have amused him in Ayoung brother no plumper in the pocket than he was himself became a matter for bitter contempt when Claud inherited an easy competence. Vincent, with nothing but his allowance and the erratic generosity of his grandfather to depend on, lived precariously on the edge of Dun Territory. He was a gamester, and his luck had more than once saved him from being run quite off his legs; but he had several times been out-of-town, as the saying was; and he was no stranger to an obliging individual known to every gentleman seeking to raise the wind as Old Tens-in-the-Hundred. Envy and resentment changed his indifference to Claud into rancorous dislike. He was irritated by everything Claud did, whether it was wasting his blunt on the re- lining of his private chaise, or being such a muckworm as to travel behind job-horses. Nothing short of seeing Claud rolled-up would soften his dislike, and of that there was small likelihood: Claud’s fortune was genteel rather than handsome, but he had no taste for gaming or racing, and, like his mother, he knew how to hold household.

It was an added source of exasperation in Vincent to know that his tongue had no power to wound Claud. Nothing short of being tipped into a ditch stirred Claud to resentment; and if he thought about Vincent at all it was with no other emotion than a sort of mild surprise. None of his brother’s hazardous exploits awoke in his breast a spark of envy or of emulation: he envied Vincent only his splendid shoulders, and the incomparable blacking which made his boots shine like mirrors. Unfortunately both these desirable possessions were beyond his reach. Nature had seen fit to add drooping shoulders to his willowy form; and the secret of the blacking was locked in Crimplesham’s bosom. Buckram and wadding could supply what Nature had withheld, but neither guile nor bribery would ever win from Crimplesham the least clue to his secret.

If it cost Claud a pang to know that Vincent’s Hessians outshone his own, this was nothing to the rage and the despair that filled his valet’s soul. Nor was the hostility that flourished between the brothers comparable to the feelings of jealousy, hatred, and contempt which filled the hearts of their valets. If Crimplesham excelled in the arts of polishing boots, and keeping buckskins in perfect order, Polyphant’s genius lay in his skill with an iron, and his flair for evolving new and intricate modes of tieing a neckcloth, or dashing styles for his master’s curled and pomaded locks. He believed himself to be by far the more expert valet, and it galled him beyond endurance to know that, while Crimplesham’s one excellence was apparent to all, his own talents must inevitably go to his master’s credit. Few people would suspect any aspirant to high fashion of entrusting the arrangement of his hair, or of his neckcloth, to his valet; none would suppose that any gentleman would black his own boots. By the time Claud hurried into his bedchamber, Polyphant had unpacked his portmanteaux, and had even found time to press the creases from a long-tailed coat of superfine, and a pair of black satin knee-breeches. These Claud eyed with disfavour, uttering a protest: “No, I’ll be damned if I’ll wear that rig here! Dash it, it ain’t the thing, Polyphant!” “No, sir, and well do I know it!” agreed Polyphant, in a feeling voice. “The proper mode, of course, would be pantaloons, since it is hardly feasible to suppose you will be taking a look-in at Almack’s.” He ventured to point this pleasantry with a titter, but it did not answer; and upon Claud’s demanding peevishly how the devil he could take a look-in at A lmack’s in September, and from Darracott Place, he at once banished the smile from his face, and said: “No, sir. Very true. But it might be wise to consider his lordship’s prejudice. Not that I would presume to dictate. I did venture to enquire of his lordship’s man if the custom of wearing knee-breeches every evening still obtains at Darracott Place. He assured me that it does, sir.”

The sinister nature of this warning was not lost on Claud, and he said no more. It vexed him very much to be obliged to present himself to his family in a costume so out-dated as to amount to a sartorial solecism, but he had his reward in that he incurred no censure from his grandfather other than the comprehensive disapproval contained in that gentleman’s greeting. “Twiddle-poop!” said his lordship, as Claud minced up to him to make his bow, and thereafter paid no heed to him.

Dinner, in Mrs. Darracott’s view (for her expectations had not been high), passed off very well. No lobsters had been obtainable, but Godney had procured some partridges, which, with some dried salmon, cleverly dressed in a case, quite made up this deficiency, and drew praise from Matthew, who was known to be a gourmet; and although the family reunion could hardly have been described as convivial it was not rendered hideous by any explosion of wrath from Lord Darracott.

When the gentlemen rose from the table, my lord, recommending his son, and his younger grandsons, to join the ladies, bore Vincent off to the library, saying, as soon as they had reached this sanctuary: “Your father’s as sick as a horse over this business,” “And who shall blame him?” returned Vincent. “I’m not chirping merry about it myself, you know, sir, and I should suppose that you are not thrown into transports precisely.” “No, by God!” His lordship poured brandy into two glasses, tossed off the contents of his own, and refilled it. “I did my best to keep the fellow out, but the trap’s down. Got to lick him into shape.”

“I feel sure you’ll manage to do so, sir. How old is he?” “Much your own age: seven-and-twenty.”

“If he is as old as that, he’s irreclaimable,” said Vincent cynically.

“We’ll see that!” snapped his lordship. A fter a moment he added grudgingly: “He won’t eat with his knife, at all events. He’s a military man: one of these new regiments, but still—!” “A military man! Oh, I was expecting Ayokel in homespuns! Er—commissioned, sir?” “Major,” replied Lord Darracott shortly.

Vincent’s eyes opened wide at that. “The devil he is!” For a moment his expression was inscrutable; then he gave a short laugh, and said: “Well it’s to be devoutly hoped that he’s up to the rig, for you can scarcely send a Major back to school, sir!”

“Can’t I?” said my lord, looking grimmer than ever. “This whipstraw is my grandson, I’ll have you remember! He’ll dance to my piping, or I’ll send him packing!”

“A m I to understand, sir, that you have the intention of keeping him here?” demanded Vincent.

“Yes, if he behaves himself. I want him under my eye. The thing turns out not as badly as I feared, but there are plenty of rum ’uns with military titles these days, and this fellow was reared the Lord knows how—in a weaver’s hovel, I daresay! If I’d known—if I’d ever dreamt—!”

He broke off, his hands clenching and unclenching as they always did when his rage threatened to master him. He glanced under his craggy brows at Vincent. “Well! Between us we should be able to give him a new touch!”

“Between us?” repeated Vincent. “My dear sir, I would do much to oblige you, but bear-leading a cousin I heartily wish at the devil is a feat quite beyond me.” “I didn’t say you were to bear-lead him. You’re an idle, extravagant dog, but your ton is good: you’ll serve as a model for him to copy!”

“If I had had the remotest guess that that was why I was invited I shouldn’t have come!” said Vincent.

“Oh, yes, you would!” retorted his lordship. “A nd, what’s more, jackanapes, you’ll stay for precisely as long as I choose, unless you have a fancy for paying your own debts in future!” He observed, with satisfaction, that he had at once infuriated and silenced his grandson, and smiled derisively, “Ay, that’s where the shoe pinches, isn’t it? Scorched again?” Regaining command over his temper, Vincent replied coolly: “Oh, no! Just a trifle cucumberish! I own it will suit me pretty well to remain here for the next few weeks—until the quarter, you know!”

“The allowance your father gives you won’t bring you round,” remarked his lordship. “No, sir, but the first October meeting may!” countered Vincent.

“I wish I may see it! Well, I didn’t send for you only for that. Since I can’t keep the fellow out of the family you’d best meet him at the outset, all of you!”

“A ll of us?” said Vincent. “A re we to have the rare felicity of seeing my aunts here, sir? Not to mention their numerous progeny, and—” “Don’t be impertinent, sir!” barked his lordship.

Vincent, who knew very well that he was perfectly indifferent to his three married daughters, and, indeed, to all his female descendants, bowed meekly. My lord glared at him for a moment, and then said: “I don’t care how soon the rest of ’em take themselves off, but I want you here.” He paused, frowning. “It’s the boy!” he said abruptly. “I’m not going to have that fellow putting ideas into his head: I’ve had trouble enough over that silly business!” Vincent raised his brows. “Richmond?”

“Ay, Richmond. It’s gone off now, but he was devilish set on joining, six months ago. Fell into flat despair when I told him I wouldn’t have it. Well, as I say, the notion seems to have gone off, and I don’t want him to start moping and pining again. He’s a good boy, but he’s got an odd kick in his gallop, you know. For two pins he’d hang on this fellow’s lips —make a hero of him, I daresay! Well, he won’t do that while you’re here.” “Won’t he?” said Vincent. “Er—what do I do if I find him talking to our unwanted cousin? Take him by the ear, and haul him off?”

A sardonic smile curled his lordship’s mouth. “You won’t have to. Think I don’t know what he makes of you? Whistle him to heel, and you’ll have him following like a tantony-pig!” The prospect of having an eager stripling following him like a tantony-pig was not one which Vincent could bring himself to contemplate with enthusiasm, but he said nothing, reflecting that it would probably be unnecessary to do more than keep Richmond in a string. There would be no difficulty about that, for it was true enough that the boy liked and admired him. He would almost certainly take his ton from his Corinthian cousin, for to win his approval, to emulate his sporting prowess, had always been the top of his desire. A s though he had read Vincent’s mind, Darracott said: “He won’t sit in your pocket. Won’t tease you either. But while you’re here, and he thinks there’s a chance you may take him off to see a mill, or some cocking, or teach him how to handle the reins in form, he’ll pay precious little heed to anyone else.”

Vincent nodded. “Very well, sir: I’ll engage to charm him away from this—What is the fellow’s name?”

Darracott’s face twitched; he replied shortly: “Same as his father’s. Signs himself Hugo. Don’t know why, and don’t like it.” “Oh, you’ve had letters from him, have you, sir?” “I haven’t. He wrote to Lissett—a damnable scrawl!”

A smile flickered in Vincent’s eyes for an instant, but he swiftly lowered his lids. My lord’s own handwriting would have led no one to suppose that he was a man of birth, far less of education;, but it would plainly be unwise even to hint as much. Instead, Vincent asked: “Did he—er— put forward his claims, as my father appears to believe?”

“No, I’ll grant him that: he didn’t. Never gave a sign of life till I told Lissett to write to him. Seems not to have known he was the heir, unless he was shamming it. Very likely! He wrote that he was sorry to hear of Granville’s death. Gammon!”

“Oh, mere civility!”

“Ay! So I might have thought if he hadn’t added that he didn’t see what was to be done about the business, but would as lief not step into his uncle’s shoes! Dry-boots!” “Oh, that is pitching it very much too rum!” agreed Vincent “Demonstrably an underbred person: we can do nothing for him!”

“You may not; I shall! I don’t deny I thought myself done-up at the start, but I’ve never been outjockeyed yet, and I fancy I’ve hit on a way to button it up tolerably well. The fellow shall marry Anthea.”

Vincent had been idly twirling his quizzing-glass on the end of its riband, but he was so much startled by this announcement that he let it drop, and gave an audible gasp. “Marry Anthea?”

“Yes, lobcock!” said his lordship testily. “Why not?”

Vincent drew a breath. “I can think of a score of reasons why not, but it seems that I must indeed be a lobcock, since I can’t think of one why he should! How very humiliating! I’ve always believed myself to be a man of reasonable intelligence.”

“You’re as muttonheaded as the rest of ’em! It’s the best way out of a curst hobble. He ain’t likely to form a more eligible connection—”

Up went Vincent’s brows again. “A Darracott of Darracott?” he said. “A half-bred Darracott!” my lord said savagely. “Ten to one he’d choose a commoner like himself, if I gave him his head! Well, I won’t do it! No, and I won’t have him making a figure of himself in what passes in these days for the ton! I’ll have him legshackled as soon as I can, and depend on Anthea for the rest! She’ll do the trick: she doesn’t want for sense, and she doesn’t want for spirit either. She’s a girl of rank and character, and he may think himself lucky if she takes him.”

“Certainly he may! And what may she think herself, sir?”

“She may think the same. She’s not a pea-goose, like her mother! She had her chance, and a pretty penny that cost me! Either she frittered it away, or she didn’t take: I don’t know. I do know that Oversley offered for her, and she wouldn’t have him. If she don’t want to end up an ape-leader she’ll take her cousin, and make the best of him.”

“Which,” Vincent told Anthea on the following day, “leads me to hope, for your sake, my poor girl, that this intrusive relation of ours is married already.”

“Yes, but what an uproar there would be! Has Grandpapa informed everyone of this splendid match he has made for me? It is too abominable! However, I imagine you can none of you suppose me to be so meek and dutiful as to acquiesce in such a scheme!” “If I thought that, my love, I should feel constrained to marry you myself.” “Is that a declaration?” she demanded.

“Certainly not! I don’t think it.”

“I wish it had been!” she said longingly. “How unhandsome of you! When you know how few pleasures come in my way, you might have granted me the indulgence of refusing you!” He laughed, but said, a certain gleam in his eyes: “I wonder if you would?” She met his look without a trace of embarrassment, a good deal of amusement in her face. “Dear Vincent, with enthusiasm! You must never marry. Don’t, I do earnestly beg of you, allow yourself to be taken in by any lure thrown out to you! You cannot hope to find a lady who will like you better than you like yourself.”

He was nettled, but made a quick recover. “Not like, sweetest cousin: appreciate!” She only smiled; and, as a few drops of rain had begun to fall, turned towards the house. A s they entered it, they were met by Matthew, who was looking peevish. He exclaimed: “It’s to be hoped this fellow don’t dawdle on the road! Your grandfather may say he doesn’t want to clap eyes on him, but here he is, fretting and fuming already! and it’s barely past noon! I don’t expect him to show a minute before three o’clock!”

By three o’clock, however, there was still no sign of Major Darracott, and my lord was fast working himself into a passion. He strode into one of the saloons, with his watch in his hand, and demanded explosively what the devil could be keeping the fellow. Since no one knew, no one answered, whereupon he asked if they were a set of dumb mutes. “Mute, but not of malice,” murmured Vincent. “Claud, where is your cousin?” “Which cousin?” enquired Claud. This instantly brought him under fire. He was apostrophized as an impudent young idiot, and warned not to try his grandfather’s patience too far. He looked very much startled, and protested earnestly that nothing was more remote from his intention. “Not such an idiot as that, sir!” he said, with a placating but nervous smile.

My lord, regarding him with loathing, said awfully: “It’s my belief you’re queer in your attic!” His gaze swept to Lady Aurelia, tatting, by the window, and he added with relish; “He must take after your family, my dear. We Darracotts never bred a mooncalf yet!” “Very likely,” responded Lady Aurelia.

My lord, balked, stood fulminating, and Claud, who had been turning the question put to him over in his mind, suddenly said: “Oh, that cousin! Well, I’ll tell you!” He discovered that everyone but his mother was staring at him in surprise, and blushed, saying modestly: “I may not be a clever cove, but I can answer that. Well, what I mean is, nothing has happened to him. I don’t precisely know where he is, mind, though I’ve a notion about that, too.” He looked round the circle with mild pride, and enunciated triumphantly: “Tonbridge! Won’t be here for another three hours. More, if the postboys lose the way, which I daresay they will. Dashed difficult place to find, this. Lost the way myself once.”

A fter this burst of loquacity he subsided. His grandfather, a most alarming expression on his face, was still struggling for words with which to annihilate him when Lady Aurelia intervened, saying calmly: “No doubt you are right. Indeed, I see no reason to expect the young man before dinnertime.”

“Oh, you don’t, ma’am?” said his lordship, abandoning Claud for a worthier prey. “Then let me tell you that my orders to Lissett were that the fellow should be sent off post not an instant later than eight o’clock! He will have to learn that when I give an order I expect it to be obeyed to the letter!”

“It seems reasonable to prophesy that he will,” remarked Vincent, as the door shut with a decided slam behind his lordship.

“Oh, dear!” sighed Mrs. Darracott. “Since your grandfather seems to want him, I do wish he hadn’t chosen to be late! I can’t help feeling that we shall have a very uncomfortable evening.”

By twenty minutes to six, the Major still not having arrived, my lord was in a mood of cold rage, as surly (as Claud confided to Richmond) as a butcher’s dog. The ladies of the party had not yet come down from their-respective bedchambers, but the gentlemen had prudently changed their dress in good time, and dutifully assembled in the Green Saloon, My lord tugged the bell-rope, his brow black, and upon the butler’s

coming into the room, told him that dinner was to be served punctually at six o’clock.

“Very good, my lord,” Chollacombe said, “but—” “You heard me!”

It was apparent from Chollacombe’s raised head, and straining expression, that he had also heard something else. He said: “Yes, my lord. But I fancy that the Major has arrived.” “Bring him in here immediately!” commanded his lordship.

Chollacombe bowed, and left the room, carefully shutting the door. A n indistinguishable murmur of voices penetrated to the saloon, as though an argument had sprang “Wants to change his dress first,” said Claud, explaining the pause, and nodding wisely. “Very understandable. I would myself.”

“Whippersnapper!” said my lord.

The door was opened again. “Major Darracott!” announced Chollacombe.