Lady Dulcie, wending her way back from the shebeen to the Castle under the escort of Rosie and the faithful Larry, dried her tears resolutely, and did her best--no hard task at sweet eighteen, with love as an ally--to look on the bright side of things. Desmond would never leave her for long, of that she felt assured. He might go out into the world to seek his fortune, and, of course, one so brave, generous, handsome, and altogether admirable, could hardly fail to find it; but his success or failure would never, she told herself, make any difference to her. The day was not far off when she would be her own mistress, and then no spite of accident or design should hold her from her lover’s arms. As she and her companions came upon the confines of the Castle grounds two dusky figures approached them, and she made out by the faint light of the rising moon that they were Mr. Conseltine and his son Richard. They saluted her silently, to her great relief, and she passed by. ‘She’s been to meet that blackguard bastard, I suppose,’ muttered Richard between his teeth. ‘Damn him!’ ‘With all my heart!’ responded his senior. ‘Damn him, by all means! Your blunder of the morning has turned out better than I had dared to hope; but it was a blunder all the same.’ ‘It might have been,’ returned Richard; ‘but, so far, it has answered. We’ve got the brute out of the house, and it won’t be my fault if he gets in again.’ ‘’Twas too bold a stroke, lad,’ said Conseltine. ‘You show your cards too openly--you play too boldly. If the proud-stomached young ass had only had a little common-sense, he might have consolidated his position with your uncle. Henry was in the mood to do anything, to commit any folly, after you insulted the boy.’ ‘I couldn’t help it,’ returned Richard. ‘I hate the cad to such an extent that I’d have shouted his shame in his face if it had cost me every penny I have and every penny I expect from Kilpatrick.’ ‘You’re a fool,’ said his father, smoothly as ever. It required a good deal to shake the elder Conseltine from his calm cynicism. ‘And if you think the game’s won just because you’ve insulted the Squireen and got him out of the Castle for a single day, you’re a bigger fool than I ever thought you--and that’s not saying a little. The game’s only begun. Henry’s fond of the brat--absence will make him fonder still. It’s quite on the cards that he may leave every stick and stone of his property to him and strand you with the barren title. Keep out of his way. He never liked you, and now he likes you less than ever. Leave him to me. Leave Dulcie alone, too. Don’t be trying to excuse yourself, or trying to make love to her; you’ll only make bad a deal worse. Who’s that in front of us?--your eyes are younger than mine.’ ‘It’s that drunken scoundrel Blake.’ ‘Blake!’ repeated Conseltine, and fell into a slower step. ‘Well, ’tis lucky, on the whole. ’Tis as well he should know.’ ‘Know what?’ asked Richard.