"He is making the most of his time, my dear--he knows it is short," suggests the old lady, smiling and nodding, and looking wise. "Quite right, too!--quite right! Sensible fellow--knows when he is well off! So did I when I was his age--eh, Mrs. Blessington?" chimes in the squire, who, for a wonder, has caught the drift of the talk; chuckling to himself at the recollection--perfectly clear, though he forgets what happened yesterday--of the pleasant immoralities that have the weight of over half a century lying upon them. "Dinner!" announces the butler, coming close up to his master, and bawling unnecessarily loud. "You'll have to be content with the old squire again, Conny, my dear," says the old man, putting out his feeble arm; "you'll find the old fellows are best, after all." "I quite agree with you, uncle--I think they are," replies Constance, gravely; and so, the old man supported on one young girl's arm, and the old woman on another's, the procession toddles solemnly, at a snail's pace, into the carefully-warmed and shaded dining-room. "What a brilliant colour you have to-night, Miss Craven!" says Constance that evening; endeavouring vainly to get a strong light thrown upon Esther's countenance--the one small lamp, with its deep green shade, effectually baffling her. "I went out in the wind, and it caught my face," answers Esther, hurriedly: involuntarily raising her hands to her cheeks and then snatching them away again, in the fear that the scarlet dye, staining them, may betray her secret. "But there was no wind to-day, and I did not think that you had been outside the doors?" "Yes, I was; I went for a run in the park just before dressing-time." "It must have been quite dark." "It is never _quite_ dark out-of-doors; total darkness is a human invention, I think; there is always a sort of _owl_ light." Constance shrugs her shoulders: "_Chacun à son goût_, I prefer leaving it to the owls." "It stifles me staying indoors all day; I have never been used to it." Miss Blessington unbuttons her great eyes a little: "Really?" "Yes, really." "But there was no wind, surely?" persists Constance. "Not a breath!" replies the other, absently, forgetting her former excuse for her brilliant face. "There never is any wind worth calling a wind in these low countries; the winds keep to the mountains, and very wise of them too." "But you said it was the wind that had caught your face?" says Constance, raising herself from her lounging attitude with more animation than is customary to her. Esther starts. "Oh! so I did--I forgot; I meant the air, of course." Constance looks slightly sceptical, but is too well-bred to pursue her inquiries further; merely saying, languidly, as she rearranges the cushions upon which her stately shoulders rest posed, "Glycerine-cream is the best thing in the world for a chapped face."