Here the words were lost in the hum of renewed talk, and Michael was no less lost in astonishment. He felt quite feeble and bewildered with surprise. In all the years that he had known his brother, he had never heard him utter a word which could have led any one to suppose that racing or horses, beyond his own solitary hunter and riding-horse, had the faintest or most elementary interest for him. And yet, that was he giving information to Otho Askam (not receiving it from him, Michael reflected with astonishment) as to the immediate pedigree of the winner at one of the Spring meetings. More than once since he had finished his studies and been settled in Bradstane, it had been made manifest to him that Gilbert’s character contained complexities which he had not fathomed, and here was another instance—to him the most remarkable of all. With a sense of bewilderment, he finished his breakfast, and when it was over rode forth with the others. At the end of the day, towards five in the afternoon, it came to pass that the three former playmates and new acquaintances rode through Bradstane town together. ‘I say,’ said Otho—it seemed to be his favourite phrase for opening a sentence—‘I wish you two fellows would look in upon me now and then. I dine at eight, and I am perfectly alone just now. It would be a charity if you would come. I can give you a glass of sherry that isn’t so bad, and show you one or two trifles that might interest you, at any rate,’ and he turned pointedly to Gilbert. They thanked him for the invitation. Gilbert promised, unconditionally, to go, and that soon. Michael said he would try; he would go as soon as he had time. ‘You see,’ observed Gilbert, turning to Otho, with a worthy, benevolent air, ‘his time is not all his own. There’s a lady in the case.’ ‘Oh, indeed! You are engaged?’ asked Otho. ‘Yes,’ said Michael. ‘To some one here?’ ‘Yes. To Miss Wynter—Magdalen Wynter. She was at the meet this morning with an elderly lady. I was standing by their carriage for a good while.’ ‘That exceedingly handsome girl, who drove those white ponies so cleverly? She had black hair, and a very knowing sort of fur cap,’ Otho said, looking at Michael with interest. Michael smiled slightly. What a curious way in which to describe his beautiful and somewhat unapproachable Magdalen, was the thought in his mind. ‘The same,’ he answered, ‘though it would never have occurred to me to describe the cap as “knowing.”’ ‘Oh, wasn’t it, though!’ said Otho emphatically. ‘Well, I congratulate you. She is exceedingly handsome. There wasn’t another woman there who came anywhere near her. It won’t do to be exacting in your case,’ he went on, with his dubious smile; ‘but, all the same, you will be very welcome if you come.’ ‘Are you going to live alone?’ Michael asked him. ‘Doesn’t your sister stay with you?’