It contained two men in motoring coats and goggles, the chauffeur in black leather; a valet sat beside him, and there was a certain amount of luggage, indicating that the party was making an extensive tour. The two gentlemen got out and went into the hotel. The tallest of them, when he removed his mask, proved to be a man of about thirty, with a dark, handsome face, a clean-cut profile, and a pair of sleepy eyes. He was Captain Dudley Deverell, Lord Mulgrave’s cousin, and heir. His companion, Sir Harry Coxford, was a tubby little round-faced man with a red moustache and many freckles. The two travellers were ceremoniously ushered into the drawing-room. “No, we don’t want rooms, thanks,” said Captain Deverell, in a pleasant drawl. “Want to see Lord Mulgrave--heard he was here.” “His lordship left ten days ago,” said a trim, black-whiskered waiter, who looked like a Methodist parson in evening dress. “We don’t expect his lordship back at present.” “No”--looking round superciliously--“I should think _not_.” “But a--any message or letter to his lordship, will a--be forwarded to his lordship?” “Oh, it’s of no consequence. We were in this part of the world and happened to hear he’d been here, and we looked in on chance, that’s all.” “Can I get you two gentlemen any refreshment?” “No”--looking round the low sitting-room with narrow windows and old-fashioned furniture. “Lord, how it smells of musty hay!” exclaimed Sir Harry. “And flowers,” added his friend. “I say, what roses!--yes, and a garden at the back”--walking over. “I wonder what sort of people come here?” and, staring out at the unexpectedly large pleasance, with its wide gravel walks, and old-fashioned benches, “I say,” to the waiter, “what sort of people stay here?” “The _best_ sort, sir,” replied the waiter, who had been secretly indignant at the bold, cheap air of these motoring gents. “People comes here that like comfort and quiet. No cheap trippers. There’s some took in at other hotels as Mrs. Hogan would have the hall washed after, if they had the impudence to put a foot in it! We have our own farm, the finest poultry in the country, fruit and vegetables, good cars and horses on hire, and”--as a grand climax--“a _bath_-room.” “Dear me!” exclaimed Sir Harry, putting up his eyeglass. “Yes. At present we have his lordship’s sister’s man of business here. I mean the man of business’ sister of his lordship.” “The man of business’ sister of his lordship,” drawled Captain Deverell. “What the dickens _do_ you mean?” The cool, superior air of the “young high flyer,” as he mentally termed him, inflamed the waiter’s wrath; his Celtic temper rose fast; he resolved to give this contemptuous inquirer one for his nob. “Miss Usher, sir, I mean.” “Oh, old Usher’s sister,” said the captain, turning to his friend. “Then”--to the waiter--“is Mr. Usher staying here too?” “No, sir; he left with his lordship some time back.” “Leaving Miss Usher alone?”