‘I could answer for that,’ said Claude. ‘Phyllis is too familiar with both parties to mistake their notes. Besides, she never was known to use such a word as melodiously.’ ‘Do you remember,’ said the Marquis, ‘that there was some great lawyer who had three kinds of handwriting, one that the public could read, one that only his clerk could read, and one that nobody could read?’ ‘I suppose I am the clerk,’ said Claude, ‘unless I divide the honour with Florence.’ ‘I do not think I am unintelligible anywhere but here,’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘There is nothing sufficiently exciting at home, if Grosvenor Square is to be called home.’ ‘Sometimes you do it without knowing it,’ said Lily. ‘Yes,’ said Claude, ‘when you do not exactly know what you are going to say.’ ‘Then it is no bad plan,’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘People are satisfied, and you don’t commit yourself.’ ‘I’ll tell you what, Cousin Rotherwood,’ exclaimed Phyllis, ‘your hand is bleeding.’ ‘Is it? Thank you, Phyllis, I thought I had washed it off: now do find me some sealing-wax—India-rub her—sticking-plaster, I mean.’ ‘Oh! Rotherwood,’ said Emily, ‘what a bad cut, how did it happen?’ ‘Only, I am the victim to Maurice’s first essay in fishing.’ ‘Just fancy what an awkward fellow Maurice is,’ said Reginald, ‘he had but one throw, and he managed to stick the hook into Rotherwood’s hand.’ ‘One of those barbed hooks? Oh! Rotherwood, how horrid!’ said Emily. ‘And he cut it out with his knife, and caught that great trout with it directly,’ said Reginald. ‘And neither half drowned Maurice, nor sent him home again?’ asked Lily. ‘I contented myself with taking away his weapon,’ said the Marquis; ‘and he wished for nothing better than to poke about in the gutters for insects; it was only Redgie that teased him into the nobler sport.’ Emily was inclined to make a serious matter of the accident, but her cousin said ten words while she said one, and by the time her first sentence was uttered, she found him talking about his ride to Devereux Castle. He and Claude set out as soon as breakfast was over, and came back about three o’clock; Claude was tired with the heat, and betook himself to the sofa, where he fell asleep, under pretence of reading, but the indefatigable Marquis was ready and willing to set out with Reginald and Wat Greenwood to shoot rabbits. Dinner-time came, and Emily sat at the drawing-room window with Claude and Lilias, lamenting her cousin’s bad habits. ‘Nothing will ever make him punctual,’ said she. ‘I am in duty bound to let you say nothing against him,’ said Claude. ‘It is very good-natured in him to wait for you,’ said Lily, ‘but it would be horribly selfish to leave you behind.’ ‘Delay is his great horror,’ said Claude, ‘and the wonder of his character is, that he is not selfish. No one had ever better training for it.’ ‘He does like his own way very much,’ said Lilias. ‘Who does not?’ said Claude.