People did not refuse an invitation to dine at the Grange unless they were positively compelled, for the squire’s dinners were as nearly perfect as they could be; and those who did not set their hearts on the dinner found the prospect of a couple of hours spent in the Grange drawing-room, with Olivia to talk to and perhaps to sing for them, equally irresistible; and all the guests the squire had named to Olivia came up to time on the twenty-ninth. It was an early dinner, for the entertainment commenced at eight, and all but the squire, whom wild horses would not have drawn out of his house after dinner to an entertainment, were going to Aunt Amelia’s concert. Annie and Mary Penstone had driven over in the afternoon to snatch a very precious quiet hour with Olivia, and they were both on the tiptoe of feverish curiosity and excitement about the mysterious Mr. Faradeane. “Is he so very strange, Olly dear?” asked Mary, eagerly, and in a hushed voice. “We hear such extraordinary stories--all invented, of course--but do tell us! What is he like? Of course, we know he is handsome. Annie says that he is the handsomest man she has ever seen; but that’s nonsense while Lord Granville is here. What does he seem like? What does he talk about?” “Papa could tell you better than I can,” replied Olivia, smiling. “I have only spoken to him once or twice. He has a very pleasant voice and--but you heard him speak at the picnic.” “Oh, yes, wasn’t that awful! I shall never forget the look of his eyes! If he had looked at me like that, so--so, not contemptuously quite, but so calmly and indifferently--I can’t express it--as he looked at Mr. Bradstone, I should have gone through the ground!” “Like one of the patent tube wells,” said Olivia. “Don’t laugh at me. I mean what I say, dear,” said Mary, pouting. “I’m sure I shall be afraid to speak to him, in case he should snub me. He looks as if he could be awfully severe.” “He is not, I assure you; a child could play with him,” said Olivia. “There you are, laughing again. It’s all very well for you; of course, he’d be nice to you, everybody always is; nobody could be otherwise to such a dear, beautiful girl; but poor Annie and me----” “Poor Annie and me will be quite safe,” laughed Olivia. “Mr. Faradeane does not even bark, least of all bite.” This was a few minutes before dinner, and the entrance of Bertie and Bartley Bradstone stopped the interesting conversation. “We are only waiting for Mr. Faradeane,” said the squire, glancing at his watch, after the usual greetings had been got through. “Faradeane?” said Bartley Bradstone as he stood in an easy--too easy--attitude, his evening suit cut in the very last fashion, and a costly diamond blazing in the center of his white shirt-front. “Faradeane? Is he coming?” and his brows came down with the half-sullen, half-suspicious frown. “Yes,” said the squire, “and I am glad to say we have struck up a friendship. He is one of the pleasantest men----”