“Paddy!” cried Gwen in amusement. “What a name, but I rather like it! I’m beginning to feel quite interested in this Paddy. At first I was furious with her for daring to hate me, but now I rather like her for it. Tell me something about her.” “There isn’t anything to tell.” “Of course there is. What does she do all day long, living in that deadly place!” “Fishes, and shoots, and sails.” “Oh, does she shoot!” with eagerness. “She’s the finest shot of her sex that I’ve ever come across, and she can sail a boat as well as any man. She gets capsized into the loch periodically, but thinks nothing of it. Her father is a soldier, and the wilder the things she does, the better he likes it, because then he is half able to persuade himself that she is a boy. I believe the dream of his life was to have a son, but as it is he considers Paddy the next best thing and dotes on her.” “She must be very jolly,” said Gwen. “What a pity she isn’t pretty too.” “I never knew anyone who cared less. She won’t even take the trouble to make the most of her hair, and yet, with a little pains, it is so beautiful that she could easily pass for a good-looking girl.” “I’d like to know her,” said Gwen. “I daresay you will when you find there’s nothing for it but to take me and reign at Mourne Lodge instead of Selloyd Castle,” with a twinkle. “I wonder if she’d still hate me,” thoughtfully. Lawrence said nothing, but he was of the opinion that Paddy would hate more than ever. Owen’s father came in then from an official interview with Lord Kitchener, during which grave matters concerning the welfare of India had been discussed. The Hon. Jack Carew, as he still continued to be called, in spite of his forty-three years, held a Government post in India, and was one of the popular rising men of his day, great things being predicted for him in the future. Like all the rest, he idolised Gwen, and when told of the Earl’s visit and its result he took her side entirely, secretly only too glad to feel the question of a wedding once more thrust in the background. The subject was quickly dismissed, and affairs of state, as far as was permissible, discussed with great interest between the father and daughter and Lawrence, until the latter departed for his club. Here he was surprised to find a letter with a thin black edge awaiting him, in his mother’s handwriting, and, once more sinking into the depths of a big easy-chair, he proceeded to read it. As he did so his brow contracted somewhat, and once or twice he glanced over the top of the paper with a half-anxious, worried expression. Then he folded it up slowly, and sat for a long time lost in thought.