Sir Frederick came forward with his set artificial smile, and shook hands with Mrs Bowood with much apparent cordiality. He was a slightly built man, rather under than over the ordinary height. As Mrs Bowood had remarked, he did not look nearly so old as his years; but he had taken great care of himself all his life, and he was now reaping his reward. He was as upright as a dart, and there was something of military precision in his carriage and bearing, although he had never been in the army. His once coal-black hair was now streaked with gray, but judiciously so, as though he were making a graceful concession to the remorseless advance of time. How much of its tint was due to nature and how much to art was a secret best known to himself and his valet. His face was close shaven, except for a small imperial, which was jet black. He had clear-cut aquiline features, and when younger, would doubtless have been considered by most people as a very handsome man. But his eyes were small, and their general expression was one of cold suspicion; they lent a touch of meanness to his face, which it would not otherwise have possessed. Sir Frederick was carefully dressed in the height of the prevalent fashion, but with the more prominent ‘points’ artistically toned down to harmonise with the obligations of advancing years. ‘Good-morning, Mrs Bowood,’ he said. ‘Is the Captain at home?’ ‘Good-morning, Sir Frederick. You are quite a stranger.’—He had not been to Rosemount for five days.—‘Charles is somewhere about the grounds. I will send a servant to look for him.’ ‘No, no, my dear Mrs Bowood; nothing of the kind, I beg. I will go in search of him myself presently. I have driven over to see him about that bay mare which I am told he wants to get rid of.’ Mrs Bowood smiled to herself. The excuse was too transparent. ‘Charles is one of those men who are never happy unless they have something to sell,’ she said. ‘Whereas your sex, if I may venture to say so’—— ‘Are never happy unless there is something that we want to buy. How thoroughly you understand us, Sir Frederick!’ ‘Consider for how many years I have made you my study.’ ‘What a pity you did not make better use of your time!’ ‘Where could I have found another study half so charming?’ ‘You would graduate with honours, I do not doubt.’ ‘If you were one of the examining Dons, that might be possible.’—There was a brief pause, then the Baronet said: ‘I trust that Lady Dimsdale is quite well?’ ‘Quite well, I believe. She, too, is somewhere about the grounds. This lovely morning seems to have tempted every one out of doors.—You will stay luncheon of course, Sir Frederick?’ ‘You are too good. A rusk and a glass of claret are all that I take in the middle of the day.’ It was one of the Baronet’s little weaknesses to like to be regarded as a semi-invalid, especially by the ladies.