His manner was not always deemed so free from affectation; it was, perhaps, a little more self-conscious; it was touched with a foreign courtliness, and he employed, on occasions of any ceremony or in intercourse with ladies, a certain formality of speech; it was said of him by an observant woman that he seemed to be thinking in a language more ornate and picturesque than his tongue employed. He was content to say the apt thing, not striving after wit; he was more prone to hide a joke than to tell it; he would ignore a victory and laugh at a defeat; yet he followed up the one and never sat down under the other, unless it were inflicted by one he loved. He liked to puzzle, but took no conscious pains to amuse. Thus he returned to his “responsibilities.” Cromlech Stabb was wondering what that dignified word would prove to describe. CHAPTER II LARGELY TOPOGRAPHICAL Miss Gilletson had been studying the local paper, which appeared every Saturday and reached Nab Grange on the following morning. She uttered an exclamation, looked up from her small breakfast-table, and called over to the Marchesa’s small breakfast-table. “Helena, I see that Lord Lynborough arrived at the Castle on Friday!” “Did he, Jennie?” returned the Marchesa, with no show of interest. “Have an egg, Colonel?” The latter words were addressed to her companion at table, Colonel Wenman, a handsome but bald-headed man of about forty. “‘Lord Lynborough, accompanied by his friend Mr Leonard Stabb, the well-known authority on prehistoric remains, and Mr Roger Wilbraham, his private secretary. His lordship’s household had preceded him to the Castle.’” Lady Norah Mountliffey--who sat with Miss Gilletson--was in the habit of saying what she thought. What she said now was: “Thank goodness!” and she said it rather loudly. “You gentlemen haven’t been amusing Norah,” observed the Marchesa to the Colonel. “I hoped that I, at least, was engaged on another task--though, alas, a harder one!” he answered in a low tone and with a glance of respectful homage. “If you refer to me, you’ve been admirably successful,” the Marchesa assured him graciously--only with the graciousness there mingled that touch of mockery which always made the Colonel rather ill at ease. “Amuse” is, moreover, a word rich in shades of meaning. Miss Gilletson was frowning thoughtfully. “Helena can’t call on him--and I don’t suppose he’ll call on her,” she said to Norah. “He’ll get to know her if he wants to.” “I might call on him,” suggested the Colonel. “He was in the service, you know, and that--er--makes a bond. Queer fellow he was, by Jove!”