"No; we only went to the ruins, and lunched in the keep. Besides, I don't know him." "Ah! you wouldn't have seen him if you had known him. He keeps quite to himself just now." "What's the matter? is he ill?" "No, not ill in body, you know. What's that we used to learn in the Latin grammar--'_magis quam corpore, aegrotat_'--his mind, you know." "That's bad; what has brought that about?" "Well, you see, he's got a son, a wild extravagant fellow, who has run through I can't tell how much money, which poor Tom could very ill afford, as we all know; and the last thing the vagabond did was to get hold of his father's cheque-book, and forge his name to a terrible amount." Had Sir Thomas been a gentleman of quick perception--a charge which had never been brought against him--he would have been very much astonished at the effect of his anecdote. Sir Charles Mitford turned deadly white. Colonel Alsager frowned heavily, and glanced towards Lady Mitford, who, pale as her husband, looked as if she were about to faint; Lord Dollamore glanced sharply at Sir Thomas Hayter, to see whether he had spoken innocently or with malice prepense. Mrs. Hammond was the only one who seemed to keep her wits thoroughly about her. She glanced at Lady Mitford, and then pushing her chair back sharply, as though obeying a signal from her hostess, rose from the table, followed of course by all the other ladies. After their departure, and so soon as the door closed behind them, Lord Dollamore addressed himself to Sir Thomas, asking him if he had heard the report that the Whig Ministry intended to impose a new duty on cider--a subject which he knew would engross the old gentleman's attention, to the exclusion of Tom Boscastle and every one else. And, as Lord Dollamore said afterwards, it was an illimitable subject, for he himself invented the report as a herring across the scent; but under old Hayter's fostering care it grew into a perfect Frankensteinian monster. While they were talking, Sir Charles Mitford filled a bumper of claret, and after swallowing half of it, looked round the table to see the extent of the calamity. Then, for the first time, he acknowledged to himself how right the girl Lizzie Ponsford had been in what she had said. Dollamore evidently knew the story, and Alsager--perhaps Hammond, who was leaning back in his chair, enjoying his Madeira; but he could tell in an instant, by the expression of their faces, that none of the others had heard it. Another link had been forged this evening in the chain of his attachment to that charming Mrs. Hammond! how nobly she had behaved! Poor Georgie had lost her bead of course, and had very nearly made a mess of it by fainting, or screaming, or something; but that other woman did just exactly the right thing at the right time. And all for him! He was more infatuated with her than ever. He wondered whether he should ever have the chance of telling her so. He wondered how Butler was progressing in his mission.