No whit abashed, Ratcliffe replaced his felt with the very latest twist of the wrist. “Does your lordship make it a practice, then, of not taking your memory out of town? To be sure, memory is a mighty inconvenient chattel at times. Natheless, ’tis a fact your lordship and my humble self have met at the same board. Did I not share with your lordship, last winter, the privilege of being the guest of the pretty Mantes?” “Enough—I remember you, sir,” said his lordship. “Egad,” laughed Ratcliffe, with elaborate geniality, “I, sure, did take special note of your lordship, that night, seeing you with the nymph, our hostess, whom, I mind me, you had but just whisked from under the very nose of Jove. Nay, not the first time (if report spoke truly) that Old Rowley has been cut out by the Rake—” The words were arrested on his lips by a look as sharp as a sword:— “You have too long a memory, sir. Shorten it.—My son,” added the speaker, turning his shoulder upon Ratcliffe, “you were about to introduce the young gentleman to me.” “My brother, Sir Edward Hare, my lord,” said Diana, forestalling her lover. The interlude with Ratcliffe had perturbed the group; and with gracious instinct she sought to cover her cousin’s insolence and young Rockhurst’s rising anger at insinuations incomprehensible to country dwellers, yet the hostile intent of which was but too transparent. Sir Edward, however, was far from assisting her purpose. “Nay, brother, brother,” she whispered, as the bumpkin nodded sulkily. “Doff thy hat.” “I tell thee, Di,” murmured the injured youth, “’tis he owes me two bows and a scrape. Ecod: ‘the lady’s speaking,’ quotha! And I with my best leg already drawn out for him!” “Your lordship must excuse our rustic manners,” said Diana, with a pretty glance, half humorous, half pleading. Rockhurst looked at her a second musingly.—Yes, grace, youth, sweetness, all were hers! And fate had so worked that it was she who was to embody his son’s young love dream! Dear lad … small blame to him! He gave an unconscious sigh. To his countenance came back that air of kindness which Harry had missed in it so singularly since the meeting with Diana. “Of your leave, my son,” said he, then, “I will have a few minutes’ converse with Mistress Harcourt apart.” Harry pressed his father’s hand in delighted response. He leant back against the sunny wall and watched his mistress go in grace beside the stately figure of the great Lord Rockhurst. Lionel took place beside him, and from narrowed lids looked smilingly at the young man’s happy countenance. [Illustration: Lionel took place beside him and from narrowed lids looked smilingly at the young man’s happy countenance.] Mistress Rockhurst, who, solemnly seated at the end of her bench, had been a silent yet mightily observant witness of the whole scene, now, suddenly struck by the discontented expression of Edward Hare’s visage, addressed the youth:— “What ails ye, Sir Edward?”