“I was aware of that. Indeed, I am on my way to join him, and only diverged at Crewe to come over here, that I might bring him the latest advices from home.” “And are you going yachting?” said she, with a sort of surprise that sent the blood to M’Kinlay’s face and even his forehead. “No, Miss Courtenay, I trust not, for I detest the sea; but Sir Gervais wants my advice about this Irish estate he is so full of.” “Oh! don’t let him buy anything in Ireland. I entreat of you, Mr. M’Kinlay, not to sanction this. None of us would ever go there, not even to look at it.” “I imagine the mischief is done.” “What do you mean by being done?” “That the purchase is already made, the agreement ratified, and everything completed but the actual payment.” “Well, then, don’t pay; compromise, contest, make difficulties. You legal people needn’t be told how to raise obstacles. At all events, do anything rather than have an Irish property.” “I wish I had one.” “Well, I wish you had--that is, if you are so bent upon it. But I must go and tell my sister this distressing news. I don’t know how she’ll bear it! By the way,” added she, as she reached the door, “I shall find you here when I come back--you are not going away?” “Certainly not without seeing Lady Vyner, if she will accord me that honour,” said he, stiffly. “Of course she’ll see you,” cried she, and left the room. Left alone with his reflections, Mr. M’Kinlay had not the pleasantest company. Had he mistaken all the relations between Miss Courtenay and himself, or was she changed to him--totally changed? Was it thus that they met last? He knew that she always had a certain flippant manner, and that she was eminently what the French call _inconséquent_; but she was more, far more, now. The allusion to Rickards’s age was a direct impertinence, and the question as to his yachting tastes was a palpable sneer at the habits of his daily life. “The case does not look well--certainly not well,” murmured he, as he walked the room with his hands behind his back. “Many would throw up the brief, and say, ‘Take a nonsuit.’ Yes, most men would; but I’ll do nothing rashly!” And with this wise resolve he took up a book and began to read; but still the hours rolled on, and no one came. By the clock over the mantelpiece it was now four. Could it possibly be that it was two hours and a half since--since she had left him? CHAPTER VIII. AN OLD BACHELOR’S HOUSE