“What! when I saw you both philandering behind the party hand-in-hand, and--and--left you the dog-cart on the strength of it!” “Oh, I only took Miss West’s hand for a moment--to--to ratify a promise.” “Promise of what?” impatiently. “A promise of her friendship,” stammered his companion. It was a moment of mental reservations. “Oh!” with an expression of deepest scorn. “That wasn’t the way we made love when I was a young man. What a miserable milk-and-watery set you are! Friendship!” “Yes, I know there is a falling off,” admitted Lord Tony, with humility. “But we are not as energetic in any way as the last generation. We prefer to take things easy, and to take our own time. Miss West is young--‘marry in haste and repent at leisure,’ you know,” he pursued collectedly. “You must not rush Miss West, you know. She--she--all she asks for is _time_.” “Did she _name_ any time?” “Er--well--no.” “I’m afraid you mismanaged the business--eh? You just leave it to me. _I’ll_ arrange it!” “No--no--no. That’s just the one thing I bar. Interference would dish the whole concern. I beg and implore of you to leave--a--well alone--for the present, at any rate. Miss West and I understand one another.” “I’m glad of that; for I’m blessed if I understand _either_ of you!” exclaimed his disgusted listener. “Ah! hullo, there goes Miss Pace, and I promised to play tennis with her. I must go and get my bat and shoes.” Exit. At the end of September the tide of enjoyment at Clane was at its height. Theatricals were in rehearsal--that fertile field for flirtation and fighting. The bags of the season had been enviably heavy; the poor neighbours were sensible of a pleasant circulation of money and new ideas; prices were rising steadily. The wealthy neighbours appreciated Mr. West’s princely hospitality, and spoke of him as “not a bad sort in his way, though a shocking little bounder.” Mrs. Leach had prolonged her visit, and her attentions to her host were becoming quite remarkable. He was not an ardent sportsman; his short legs were unaccustomed to striding over the heather-clad mountains; he did not want to shoot deer--in fact, he was rather afraid of them. So he left the delights of his shooting to well-contented, keen young men, and was easily beguiled into long saunters among the grounds and woods in the syren’s company. To tell the truth, they were not much missed, and they frequently rested on rustic seats, and talked to one another with apparent confidence--flattering confidence. He spoke of Madeline’s future--his earnest desire to see her suitably married. “A girl like her might marry a duke; don’t you think so, Mrs. Leach?” “She might,” said the lady, but without a trace of enthusiasm in her voice--in fact, there was an inflection of doubt. “She is undeniably lovely, but----” “But what?”