Trevor returned home in no very enviable frame of mind.  The look Tiny Rea had given him troubled him more than he could express, and he felt ready to rail at Fortune for the tricks she had played him.  Old Lloyd came, smiling and deferential, into the room with some letters, which his master snatched up and threw on the table.

“In which room are Captain Vanleigh and Sir Felix?”

“I think they’re gone up to Tolcarne, sir,” said the butler.

Worse and worse:  they were evidently liked there, too, and that was the reason why they prolonged their stay without a word of leaving.

“Is there anything I can get for you, sir?” said the butler.

“No,” said Trevor, sharply.

And he walked out of the room, to encounter Mrs Lloyd, who was ready to smile and give him a curtsey; but he passed her with such an expression of anger that the blood flushed into her face, and she stood looking after him as, with his letters crumpled in his hand, he walked out into the grounds, to think over what he should next do.

“I’ll send them both away,” he thought.  “That old woman’s insolence is intolerable.  It’s plain enough.  Pratt’s right.  Where is the little humbug?  Out of the way just when I want him.  I’ll give that old woman such a setting down one of these days ­but I have not time now.”

He sat very still for a time, thinking of what he should do ­Tiny’s soft eyes haunting him the while, with their sad reproachful look.

He had seen very little of her, but, sailor-like, his heart had gone with a bound to her who had won it; and he was even now accusing himself of being dilatory in his love.

“Yes,” he said, “I do love her, and very dearly.  I’ll see her, tell her frankly all, take her into my counsel, and she will believe me.  I’m sure she will, and forgive me too.  Humph!  Forgive me for doing nothing.  But I must talk to the old gentleman ­propose in due form, ask his permission to visit his daughter, and the rest of it.  Heigho! what a lot of formality there is in this life!  I think I may cope with her, though.  She looked so gently reproachful I could wait; but no, I mustn’t do that.  I’ll call this afternoon and suffer the griffin.  But those two fellows, why should they go up this morning?  Evident that they did not see the ladies, for they were out.  No wonder Van takes to making calls, seeing how I’ve neglected him and Flick.  I wish Pratt were here.  Where did he go?”

“Thy slave obeys,” said Pratt, who had approached unobserved upon the soft turf!  “Should you have liked Van to hear what you said just now?”

“No.  Was I talking aloud?” said Trevor.

“You were, and very fast,” was the reply.

“But what’s the matter, Franky?  What’s the letter?”

And he pointed to an open missive in his friend’s hand.

“It’s about that I’ve come to you,” said Pratt.  “Read.”

Trevor took the note, glanced over it, and found it was an invitation to Mr Frank Pratt to dine at Tolcarne on the following Friday.  This brought Trevor’s thoughts back to the letters Lloyd had given him, and he hastily took them from his pocket, to find a similar invitation to the one Pratt had had placed in his hand.

“That’s lucky,” he said, brightening.

“Lucky ­why?” said Pratt.

“Because I want to go.  But why are you looking so doleful?”

“Natural aspect, Dick.  I only came to tell you I should not go.”

“Not go!  Why?”

“Because I am going back to town.”

“Are you upset, Franky?  Is anything wrong?  I’ve been rude, I suppose, and said something that put you out this morning.”

“No ­oh no!”

“But I’m sure that must have been it.  But really, old fellow, I was much obliged.  Franky, you were quite right ­it is as you say; so if I said anything when I was hipped, forgive me.”

“Dick, old fellow,” cried Pratt, grasping the extended hand, “don’t talk of forgiveness to me.  I have been here too long; this idle life don’t suit me, and I’ve got to work.”

“Work, then, and help me through my troubles.  I can’t spare you.”

“Dick, old fellow, I feel that I must go.  Don’t ask me why.”

“No, I won’t ask you why,” said Trevor, eyeing him curiously; “but, to oblige me, stay over this Friday, and go with me to the dinner.”

Pratt hesitated a moment.

“Well, I will,” he said; and the conversation ended.

During the intervening days Trevor was too much excited to say anything to Mrs Lloyd.  He called at Tolcarne twice, but the ladies were out.  He tried every walk in the neighbourhood, but without avail; and at last, blaming himself bitterly for his neglect of his guests, and thinking that the opportunity he sought must come on the Friday, he determined to try and make up for the past by attending to Vanleigh and Landells.

“I’ll talk to Lady Rea about it ­that’s; how I’ll manage,” he said.  “She’s a good, motherly soul, and will set me right, I’m sure.  I know ­ tell her I want advice and counsel; ask her to help me counteract Mrs Lloyd’s designs.”

Trevor laughed over what he considered the depth of his plans, and after dinner that night was in excellent spirits, losing thirty guineas to Vanleigh in a cheery way that made Pratt shudder for his recklessness, and bite his lips with annoyance at the cool manner in which the money was swept up.

“By the way,” said Trevor, as they sat smoking, “what do you say to a sail to-morrow? ­the yacht’s in trim now, and the weather delightful.”

“Thanks ­no,” said Vanleigh.  “I don’t think we can go, eh, Landells?”

“Jove! ­no; drive, you know, with the old gentleman.”

Trevor looked inquiringly from one to the other.

“Fact is,” said Vanleigh, coolly, “Sir Hampton Rea has asked us to join him in a little picnic excursion to the north coast ­drive over, you know, to-morrow.  Yes, Thursday,” he said, looking at his little note-book ­one which usually did duty for betting purposes ­“Yes, Thursday, and Friday we all dine there, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” said Trevor, in a quiet, constrained way, which made Sir Felix, who had already felt rather hot and confused, colour like a girl.

“Mustn’t mind our running away from you so much, Trevor,” continued Vanleigh, with a smile, which the former felt carried a sneer, and an allusion to his own playing of the absentee.  “Fact is, the old gentleman seems to be rather taken with Flick here.”

“’Sure you, no,” said Sir Felix, excitedly; “it’s the other way, Trevor.  Makes no end of Van, showing him over grounds, asking ’vice, you know, and that sort of thing.”

“I am glad you find the place so much more agreeable than you expected,” said Trevor, gravely.

“Never s’ jolly in m’ life, Trevor,” said Sir Felix, excitedly, and speaking nervously and fast.  “Fine old fellow, S’ Hampton.  Fitting up b’liard-room.  ’L have game after come back.”

“Take another cigar,” said Trevor, and his voice was very deep, as he seemed now to be exerting himself all that he could to make up for his past neglect to those whom he had invited down as his friends.  “Vanleigh, you are taking nothing.”

“I’m doing admirably, dear boy,” said the captain, in the most affectionate of tones; and then to himself ­“What does that little cad mean by watching me as he does?”

He smiled pleasantly, though, all the while, and when, to pass the time away, and conceal his trouble, Trevor once more proposed cards, the captain condescended to take “that little cad” as his partner, and between them they won fifty pounds of Trevor and Sir Felix ­the latter throwing the cards petulantly down, and vowing he would play no more.

“Good night, dear boy,” said Vanleigh, rising and yawning a few minutes after smilingly taking his winnings.  “It’s past one, and we shall be having our respected friend, Mrs Lloyd, to send us to bed.”

A sharp retort was on Trevor’s lip, but he checked it, and with a courtesy that was grave in spite of his efforts, wished him good night, saying ­

“There is no fear of that; Mrs Lloyd and I understand each other pretty well now.”

“Ya-as, exactly,” said Vanleigh; and he went out whistling softly.

“Good night, Trevor,” said Sir Felix, in turn. “’Fraid we’re doocid bad comp’ny.  Too bad, I’m sure, going ’way as we do.”

“Good night, Flick,” said Trevor, smiling; and then, as the door closed, he turned to find Pratt leaning against the chimneypiece, counting over his winnings.  “Well, my lad!” continued Trevor, trying to be gay.

“Twenty-five pounds, Dick,” said Pratt, laying the money on the table.  “I shan’t take that.”

“Nonsense, man,” said Trevor; “keep it till Van wins it back.  But what’s the matter?  Have you found another of your mare’s-nests?”

“I was thinking, Dick,” said Pratt, gravely, “that you must be very sorry you asked any of us here.”

Trevor’s lips parted to speak; but without a word he wrung his friend’s hand, took his candle, and hastily left the room.