"So much so that as far as my own inclination goes there is no reason why I should not stay here for the rest of my life--only you would get tired of me--and I have promised my doctor to go southward before the frosty weather begins." "A day or two can't make much difference." "Not much--only when there is a disagreeable effort to be made the sooner one gets it over the better." "I am sorry you are off so suddenly," said Leonard, going on with the game, and looking rather oddly across the table at Captain Vandeleur. "I am more than sorry," said that gentleman, "I am surprised. But perhaps I am not altogether in the secret of your movements." "There is no secret," said Angus. "Isn't there? Then I'm considerably mistaken. It has looked very much lately as if there were a particular understanding between you and my elder sister; and I think, as her brother, I have some right to be let into the secret before you leave Mount Royal." "I am sorry that either my manner, or Miss Vandeleur's, should have so far misled you," answered Angus, with freezing gravity. He pitied the sister, but felt only cold contempt for the brother. "The young lady and I have never interchanged a word which might not have been heard by everybody at Mount Royal." "And you have had no serious intentions--you have never pretended to any serious feeling about her." "Never. Charming as the young lady may be, I have been, and am, adamant against all such fascinations. A man who has been told that he may not live a year is hardly in a position to make an offer of marriage. Good-night, Tregonell. I shall rely on your letting one of your men drive me to the station." He nodded good-night to the other two men, and left the room. Randie, who loved him for the sake of old times, followed at his heels. "There goes a cur who deserves a dose of cold lead," said Jack, looking vindictively towards the door. "What, Randie, my wife's favourite?" "No, the two-legged cur. Come, you two men know how outrageously that puppy has flirted with my sister." "I know there has been--some kind of flirtation," answered Mr. Montagu, luxuriously buried in a large armchair, with his legs hanging over the arm, "and I suppose it's the man who's to blame. Of course it always is the man." "Did you ever hear such a sneaking evasion?" demanded Jack. "Not a year to live forsooth. Why if he can't make her his wife he is bound as a gentleman to make her his widow."