“I’m not wishin’ to be disrespectful, Miss Doris; but I dhreamt last night Paddy Murphy had broke into the house.” “Who is he?” “A highwayman, Miss Doris; and he had the ould lady on the floor and was prizin’ the jewels off her wid the point of his knife same as you prize barnacles off a rock down by the say-side.” Lord Gawdor gave a howl of laughter. He was not in love with his Aunt Molyneux, and the picture of her as imagined by Patsy tickled his fancy immensely. Patsy, seeing him laugh, grinned in a half-hearted fashion and scratched his head. “Miss Doris,” said he, looking up from the toes of his boots which he had been contemplating and still grinning, not from merriment, but as if the grin had stuck to his face and would not come off, “couldn’t you tell the ould lady to keep away, for it’s afear’d I am that the dhrame will come true.” “I wish I could,” said Doris whole-heartedly; then, remembering to whom she was speaking: “Don’t talk nonsense. It’s very wicked to be superstitious and believe in dreams—besides, dreams always come contrary; if you dream of a wedding some one is sure to die, and if you dream a person is dead, it’s a sign they are going to be married——” “I say,” said Lord Gawdor, who had climbed on to the window-seat, “come here.” Doris came to the window. An outside car piled with luggage was coming across the park along the drive. On one side of the car sat the driver, on the other a young gentleman in a Norfolk jacket and a shooting cap; he had a pipe in his mouth. It was the first of the expected guests. “It’s Mr Fanshawe,” said Doris. “Isn’t he nice-looking!” “Look, there’s two gun-cases,” said Lord Gawdor. “My eye! wonder where his horses are?” “He couldn’t bring his horses on the car with him,” said Doris. “Who said he could, stupid?” replied his lordship, pushing the window up. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XII MR FANSHAWE Dicky Fanshawe, as every one called him, was twenty-five years of age. He had enough money to do what he liked, and so, as a rule, he did nothing; at least, that was what his uncle, General Grampound, said about him. But as a matter of fact, he did a great deal, for wherever he went he made people feel happier and better. He was not what people call a “good young man.” He spent a great deal of money in ways that people said he shouldn’t, but he also spent a great deal of money in a way that nobody knew anything about, for he was always ready to help a person in distress. He was a dead shot, a great cricketer, and he nearly always was in the first flight in the hunting field.