Captain Irons and Mr Stillford came in from riding, late for breakfast. They completed the party at table, for Violet Dufaure always took the first meal of the day in bed. Irons was a fine young man, still in the twenties, very fair and very bronzed. He had seen fighting and was great at polo. Stillford, though a man of peace (if a solicitor may so be called), was by no means inferior in physique. A cadet of a good county family, he was noted in the hunting field and as a long-distance swimmer. He had come to Nab Grange to confer with the Marchesa on her affairs, but, proving himself an acquisition to the party, had been pressed to stay on as a guest. The men began to bandy stories of Lynborough from one table to the other. Wenman knew the London gossip, Stillford the local traditions: but neither had seen the hero of their tales for many years. The anecdotes delighted Norah Mountliffey, and caused Miss Gilletson’s hands to fly up in horror. Nevertheless it was Miss Gilletson who said, “Perhaps we shall see him at church to-day.” “Not likely!” Stillford opined. “And--er--is anybody going?” The pause which habitually follows this question ensued upon it now. Neither the Marchesa nor Lady Norah would go--they were both of the Old Church. Miss Dufaure was unlikely to go, by reason of fatigue. Miss Gilletson would, of course, go, so would Colonel Wenman--but that was so well known that they didn’t speak. “Any ladies with Lynborough’s party, I wonder!” Captain Irons hazarded. “I think I’ll go! Stillford, you ought to go to church--family solicitor and all that, eh?” A message suddenly arrived from Miss Dufaure, to say that she felt better and proposed to attend church--could she be sent? “The carriage is going anyhow,” said Miss Gilletson a trifle stiffly. “Yes, I suppose I ought,” Stillford agreed. “We’ll drive there and walk back?” “Right you are!” said the Captain. By following the party from Nab Grange to Fillby parish church, a partial idea of the locality would be gained; but perhaps it is better to face the complete task at once. Idle tales suit idle readers; a history such as this may legitimately demand from those who study it some degree of mental application.