The colonel got through a little duty talk with Mrs. Trequite, whose attention was frequently distracted by the necessity of explaining Mrs. Crowther’s polite murmurs to the vicar on the other side of the table; and this duty done he gave himself up to watching Isola and her host. Why did she blush so when the man talked to her? Was it the bold admiration of those fishy eyes which annoyed her, or the man’s manner altogether; or was it anything that he said? Disney strained his ears to hear their conversation, if that could be called conversation which was for the most part monologue. The man was talking of the Hunt Ball of last winter. Disney heard such snatches of speech as “the prettiest woman in the room,” “everybody said so,” “Lostwithiel was evidently _épris_.” Mr. Crowther had a penchant for scraps of French, which decorated his speech as truffles adorn a boned turkey. “Isn’t it odd that he should be such a rover?” he asked, in a less confidential tone than before. Isola looked up at him, as if hardly understanding the question. “I mean Lostwithiel. With such a nice place as he has here, it seems a pity to be broiling himself in Peru. I never could understand the taste for orchids; and in his case--well, I hardly believe in it. He is the last man to emulate a Hooker or a Lawrence. Orchid-hunting must be an excuse for keeping away from England, I take it. Don’t you think so, now, Mrs. Disney?” “I really don’t know.” “You don’t know why he should want to keep away? No, no more does anybody else. Only we all wonder, don’t you know. He talked to me of settling down in the county--looking after the estate a little. He even hinted that he might, in due course, cast about for a nice young wife--with a little money. And then all of a sudden off he sails in that rakish yacht of his, and roves from port to port like the Flying Dutchman in the Opera, till at last we hear of him on the coast of Peru. Curious, ain’t it, Mrs. Disney?” “Why curious?” asked Isola, coldly. “Was not Lord Lostwithiel always fond of yachting?” “No doubt; but when a man talks of settling down in his native place--and then doesn’t do it--there must be a reason, mustn’t there?” “I don’t know. People act as often from caprice as from reason.” “Ah, that is a lady’s idea. No man who is worthy the name ever acts from caprice,” said Mr. Crowther, with his insinuating air, as if some hidden meaning were in the words, and then looking across the table and seeing the colonel’s watchful face, he altered both tone and manner as he added, “Of course you know Lostwithiel, Colonel Disney?” “I saw a good deal of Lord Lostwithiel when he was a small boy,” answered the colonel, coldly. “His father was one of my early friends. But that is a long time ago.” “How old is he, do you say?” “Debrett will answer that question better than I can. I have never reckoned the years that have gone by since I saw him in an Eton collar.”