"O yes, you must have Lord Dollamore," said Mrs. Hammond; "he has such a delightfully dry way of saying unpleasant things about everybody; and as he never shoots or hunts, he is a perfect treasure in a country house, and devotes himself to the ladies." She shot one hasty glance at Laurence as she said this, which he duly perceived. "O yes," said Sir Charles, "Dollamore's sure to come. And you, Alsager,--come, you've changed your mind?" "Upon my word, the temptation you offer me is so great, that I'm unable to resist it. Yes, I'll come." "I thought you would," said Sir Charles carelessly. "I knew you would," said Mrs. Hammond in an undertone; then aloud, "What, going, Colonel Alsager? Goodbye; I'm so pleased to have seen you; and looking so well too, after the climate, and all the things you've gone through." Laurence shook hands with Mitford and departed. Yes, there was not much doubt about it: Sir Charles was tolerably well "on" in that quarter. An old poacher makes the best gamekeeper, because he knows the tricks and dodges of his old profession; and there was not one single move of Sir Charles Mitford's during the entire conversation which Laurence Alsager did not recognize as having been used by himself in bygone days. He knew the value of every look, knew the meaning of each inflexion of the voice; and appreciated to its full the motive-power which had induced the baronet suddenly to long for the country house at Redmoor, and to become disgusted with the dreariness of London. Determined to sit him out too, wasn't he? Lord! how often he, Laurence, had determinedly sat out bores for the sake of getting ten words, one hand-clasp, from Laura after they were gone! Yes, Mitford was getting on, certainly; making the running more quickly even than Dollamore had prophesied. Dollamore! ah, that reminded him: Dollamore was to be asked down to Redmoor. That, and the manner in which Mrs. Hammond had spoken of him and his visit, had decided Laurence in accepting Mitford's invitation. There could not be anything between them which--no; Dollamore could never have made a _confidante_ of Laura and imparted to her--O no! Laura had not too much conscience in any case where her own passion or even her own whim was concerned; but she would shrink from meddling in an affair of that kind. And as for Lord Dollamore, he was essentially a man of _petits soins_, the exercise of which always laid those who practised them open to misunderstanding. He had a habit of hinting and insinuating also, which was unpleasant, but not very noxious. As people said, his bark was probably worse than his bite, and-- And at all events Laurence was very glad that he had accepted the invitation, and that he would be there to watch in person over anything that might happen. CHAPTER XI. DOWN AT REDMOOR.