"I ventured to hope that the earl, at least, might have remembered me." "You knew that I was at Chillingham Park, it appears?" she observed, with a pretty air of pique. "Yes," said I, soothed by her glance of fond reproach; "Sir Nigel’s letter told me so." "Yet you never came even once to visit us, and I longed so much to see you, for I had a good deal to gossip about concerning our residence at Calderwood." "But the earl omitted to leave a card, and your mamma never wrote; and then the rules of society!" I urged, still harping on my grievance. "The rules of fiddlesticks! When did lovers ever heed them?" she asked, in a rapid whisper, while Berkeley addressed a few words to Jocelyn, and while her dark and sparkling eyes flashed a glance that made me forget all. "Well, here are the cards of papa and mamma, with an express invitation to Chillingham. You will dine with us this evening, won’t you?" "With pleasure." "Papa and mamma are to dine at the Priory, but on another day you shall see them." "And the hour?" "Eight." "Eight!" I repeated, for that was the very hour of my appointment with Agnes Auriol, and the park lay in an opposite direction from the barracks. Here was a dilemma! But I resolved, if possible, to keep faith with both, and said— "Excuse me, pray; but on reflection I find it impossible to be present at that hour." "Indeed!" "But I shall present myself soon after in the drawing-room." "What prevents you?" she asked, raising her dark eyebrows. "Duty, unfortunately." "In that case I must excuse you. Allegiance to me should not precede that which you owe to the Queen. Till this evening, then, adieu."