'I suppose you have long since heard how Sir Carnaby Collingwood made a fool of himself at St. George's. He has now gone on his wedding tour, and I am thankful he is out of the way. It is ungracious to write these lines of one's host, and still more so of one I would fain be more nearly connected with; but it is the old story of Doctor Fell, and you know I never liked Sir Carnaby. How difficult it is to analyse sympathy. By Jove, Trevor, it is a thing that no fellow can understand, for it takes possession of us whether we will or no; hence it is that we are unconsciously attracted or repelled by some of those we meet at first sight. And why? No one can tell. Hence, a magnetic influence draws us sometimes even to those we should shun, or compels us to shun sometimes those whom, from policy, we should attract, and in whom we should confide.' ('Has Jerry had a sunstroke?' thought Trevor; 'what _is_ all this about?') 'And thus it was that a magnetic influence led me to love Ida at first sight, and at the same time to dislike Sir Carnaby, and I fear the feeling will never pass away, so far as he is concerned. 'I know not where this may find you; but any place is better than London at this season. You know what it is in August and September, with its pavement fit only for a salamander or a fireman. After Ascot, the Collingwoods--the three ladies, at least--left London in the height of the season, and went to Carnaby Court. I was with them--Ida and Clare, I mean--on Rakes' drag on the Royal Heath on the Cup day. Don't you envy me, old fellow? I am sure you do. We spoke much of you among ourselves, anyhow, and Clare looked her brightest and her best when we did so. By not starting early, we were delayed waiting for the young engaged couple; we lost the first two races, but that was nothing. 'It was with quiet anger the girls saw the half-concealed billing and cooing of the old baronet and the _fiancée_, and with what excellent grace he lost some heavy bets to her brother, the Guardsman, and others to the lady herself, which she entered in a dainty little book with a jewelled pencil, and laughing girlishly as she buried her pretty nose in a hot-house bouquet of the colours affected by Sir Carnaby.