“How could I be such an ass as to ask them down?” said Trevor, aloud, as he stood at the dining-room window directly after lunch.

“And then such an ass as to say so out loud?” said a voice behind him; Frank Pratt having returned to the room, and his footsteps being inaudible on the thick Turkey carpet.

“Ah, Frank?” said Trevor, turning sharply, “you there!”

“Yes, sir,” said Pratt, solemnly, “I am here ­for the present.  Will you have the goodness to order a carriage, or a cart, or something, to convey my portmanteau to Saint Kitt’s, and I’ll be off by the night train.”

“Be off ­night train ­what the deuce do you mean?”

“Mean?  Why, that you were just accusing yourself of being a fool for firing me down; and ­”

“Don’t, Franky ­don’t be a donkey I’m worried and bothered, old man.  Help me:  don’t get in my way.”

“I that moment proposed getting out of it,” said Pratt, quietly.

“Tut, tut, tut! ­you know I didn’t mean you.  Look here, Frank, I want to go out this afternoon ­to make a call.”

Pratt made a grimace, and an attempt to feel his friend’s pulse.

“No, no; don’t play the fool now,” said Trevor.  “You know I’ve only just got those two down, and it would be so rude to leave them.”

“And you don’t want to take them ­with you?”

“No, certainly not,” exclaimed Trevor, hastily.

“But they have been introduced,” said Pratt.

“To whom ­where?” said Trevor.

“Oh, my dear, transparent, young sea deity,” said Pratt, laying his hand on Trevor’s shoulder.  “It is so easy to see through you.  Of course you don’t want to go straight off to Sir Hampton Court’s this afternoon.”

“Well, and if I do, what then?”

“Nothing, whatever,” said Pratt.  “She really is nice; I own it.”

“Don’t humbug, Frank.  Of course I want to call there.  I want to patch up that unpleasantly.  I want to be on good terms with my neighbours.”

“Hadn’t you better have only a week’s holiday down here, and then be off again to sea?”

“Will you help me, Franky, or won’t you?”

“I will.  Now, then, what is it?  Get up something to amuse Van and Flick till you come back?”

“Yes, that’s it.  Do that for me, there’s a dear old fellow.”

“What should you think the hour or so worth to you?”

“Worth?  I don’t understand you.”

“Would you stand a five-pound note for the freedom?”

“Half a dozen, you mercenary little limb of the law.”

“Hold hard, there! or, in your nautical parlance, avast there!  I don’t want the money ­only to lose.  If I play billiards with Van he’s sure to beat me, and he knows it; therefore, he won’t play me without he thinks he can win some money.  Give me a fiver to lose to him, and I’ll warrant he won’t leave the billiard-room till he has got every shilling.”

“Here ­take ten pounds,” said Trevor, hastily; “and go on, there’s a good fellow.”

“No; five will do for him,” said Frank.  “And now I shall have to play my best, to make it last.”

“Frank, old boy, you’re a trump.  I don’t know what I should have done without you.”

“I always was a young man who could make himself generally useful,” said Pratt.  “Good luck to you, old boy!”

He sighed, though, and looked rather gloomy as he went out to seek the friends whom he had left in the smoking-room, where Vanleigh was in anything but a good humour, and had been pouring a host of complaints into Sir Felix’s ear.  It was foolish of them to come down to such an out-of-the-way place; they should be eaten up with ennui.  Why didn’t Trevor order horses round?  The wines weren’t good; and he hadn’t smoked such bad weeds for years.

“Must make the best of a bad bargain,” said Sir Felix.  “Must stay ­ week.”

“Oh! we’ll stay a month now we are here,” said Vanleigh; “let’s punish him somehow.  What do you say to having a smoke outside?”

“I’m ’greeable,” said Sir Felix; and they passed out through the window.

Five minutes after Pratt entered the room, with ­

“Now, Vanleigh, I’ll play a ­Hallo! where the deuce are they?”

He walked hastily into the billiard-room, expecting to find a game begun; but, of course, they were not there.

“Gone to write letters,” he muttered; and he went into the library.

Then he entered the drawing-room, the dining-room, the conservatory.  Ran up and knocked at their bedroom doors, and then ran down again.

“Having a weed in the garden,” said Pratt, “of course.  How provoking!”

He took a hat and ran out to the summer-house, garden chairs being set out beneath the various favourite trees, and at last caught sight of a couple of figures in the distance, evidently making for the sea.

“That must be them,” he said; and he started off in full chase.

Meanwhile Trevor had hurried off; and as he left the house, Mrs Lloyd came into the hall, and then watched him from a side window.

“Yes!” she said; “he’s gone that way again ­I thought he would.  He’s sure to meet her.”

Mrs Lloyd was quite right; for a quarter of a mile out of the grounds, and down the principal lane, he saw a white dress, and his heart gave a bound, but only to calm down in its throbbing as he saw that it was little Polly, who advanced to meet him with a very warm blush on her face.

“Hallo! little maid,” he said, heartily ­“out for a walk?”

“Yes, sir,” said Polly, all in a flutter.  “I’ve been ­”

“I see, picking wild flowers,” said Trevor.  “Well, come, give me one for my coat.”

The girl hesitated, and then took a cornflower from her little bouquet.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling.  “But I shan’t pay you for it with a kiss.  I ought to, though, oughtn’t I?”

“Oh, no ­please no!” said the girl, with a frightened look, and she glanced round.

“What?” said Trevor, “is there some one coming?  There, run away; and tell your aunt to take care of you.”

The girl hurried away, and Trevor walked on, to come suddenly upon Humphrey, leaning upon his thistle staff, at a turn of the road.

“Ah, Humphrey,” he said, “going your rounds?  I want to have a talk to you to-morrow.”

There was a hard, stern look on the young man’s face as he involuntarily saluted his master; but Trevor did not notice it, and turning down the lane which led to Tolcarne, he began to tap his teeth with the stick he carried, and run over in his own mind what he should say, till he reached the new gates, walked up to the house, and was shown into the presence of the knight’s sister.

Miss Matilda Rea did not like Cornwall, principally for theological reasons.  She preferred her brother’s town-house in Russell Square, because she was within reach of the minister she “sat under” ­a gentleman who, she said, “was the only one in London to awaken her stagnant belief.”

The fact was that Aunt Matty was a lady who required a zest with her worship ­she liked pickles with her prayers, and her friend the minister furnished them ­verbal pickles, of course, and very hot.

But there were other reasons why she did not like Cornwall; there were no flagstones; the people did not take to her visitations; her prospects of getting a suitable companion grew less; and lastly, Cornwall did not agree with her dog.

Aunt Matty was dividing her time between nursing Pepine, who was very shivery about the hind legs, and reading small pieces out of a “serious” book ­tiny bits which she took like lozenges, and then closed her eyes, and mentally sucked them, so as to get the goodness by degrees.  In fact, she was so economical with her “goody” books, that one would last her for years.

“Mr Trevor!” said the servant, loudly, and then ­“I’ll tell Sir Hampton, sir, that you are here.”

Aunt Matty raised her eyes, and Pepine barked virulently at the stranger, as her mistress half rose and then pointed rather severely to a chair.

“He can’t be nice,” said Aunt Matty to herself, “or Pepine would not bark.”  Then aloud ­“Sir Hampton will, I have no doubt, soon be here.”

“Have I the pleasure of addressing Lady Rea?” said Trevor, with a smile.

Pepine barked again.

“What an insult!” thought Aunt Matty.  “Did she look like the mother of two great girls?”

In truth, she really did not.

“I am Sir Hampton’s sister,” she said, stiffly ­“Miss Matilda Rea.”