Roland, who hated the whole thing, and wished all the people at the deuce, and through whose head was buzzing a confused string of names-- belonging to people to whom he had been introduced--found himself, before he was aware of it, in a vacant seat next to Clara Neville, and almost felt grateful to her for being there. She would do to talk to, as well as anyone else, and he would be spared the trouble of opening up fresh ground. So an involuntary sigh of relief escaped him, which that young lady, for all her imperturbable calm, made a careful note of. "Don't you play croquet, Mr Dorrien?" she said. "I don't. Nothing on earth would induce me to embark in the very feeblest attempt at amusement ever devised by a stark idiot for the scourge of civilised man." She laughed. "Do you know, between ourselves, I quite share your opinion. The game is, as you say, terrible boredom. But you have been a great traveller, have you not?" "No. Nothing out of the way. I've knocked about a good deal, but only where everyone else has." "Ah, you must have seen some strange things. And I think every man who can should travel. Not in the beaten tracks--on the Continent--but in far wild countries where he is entirely dependent on himself. It must open up the mind a great deal, and do a world of good." "Yes, it has a very salutary and hardening effect; there's no doubt about that." "I suppose now you are home again, you will settle down for good," she went on. "And this is really a very beautiful spot, is it not? But you travellers are never happy for long in one place?" she added, turning to him with a very engaging smile, the more valuable on account of its rarity. "Likely enough it'll be my bounden duty to become moss-grown now," he answered with a laugh. "No, don't move, Roland," said his father, as he rose to give up his seat. "I'm not going to sit down," and there was a cordiality in his tone, as well as in the light touch of his hand upon his son's shoulder, which caused that worthy to marvel greatly. But Roland was glad to be left in peace, so he sat chatting with Clara Neville, heedless of the notes of invitation thrown out to him from many pairs of bright eyes, till at last, feeling bored, he seized upon some pretext to slip away and have a stroll round the shrubbery with Roy. But the first person he encountered on turning into it was Colonel Neville, who started guiltily, and then burst into a hearty laugh. "Aha!" he cried, "another defaulter! Come along, my boy, and we'll have our smoke together," and he puffed away at his half-smoked cigar. "We must bind ourselves not to betray each other, unless we are caught red-handed, as I thought I was just now, by Jove!" And the jolly Colonel gave vent to another of his ringing laughs, to the jeopardy of bringing about the very discovery he wished to avoid. "Don't let's go towards the lake," laughed Roland. "People are sure to wander down in that direction. This'll be our best way."