He made a feint of moving away, but Rees detained him by a gracefully imperious gesture. The lad’s complexion was flushed now with something more than the sun’s heat; his candid face showed a very becoming boyish shame and modesty. “You do me a lot more than justice, Goodhare,” said he half laughing. “You make me ashamed of my own idleness, not for the first time, I do assure you, though. You see I’ve been spoilt; I know that; but it’s so jolly that one hasn’t the strength of mind to wish people wouldn’t encourage one in one’s evil courses.” “What evil courses? I’ve never heard a word about you in that way,” said the librarian, whose eyes had glowed with an ugly light at this suggestion. “Oh, nothing worse than my besetting sin, idling, which they say is the parent of all others,” said Rees, looking up with his handsome, frank young face, on which was no trace of any passion worse than boyish vanity. Goodhare’s face fell, though its change of expression was not noticeable enough for his ingenuous companion to remark it. “You see, dear old Lord St. Austell is ever so much too good to me,” continued Rees with an affectionate inflection; “and while there are always his horses for me to ride and his coverts for me to shoot over, the temptation for me to do nothing else is too great.” “And why should you do anything else, at least in your leisure?” asked Goodhare, with apparent surprise. “Doesn’t every gentleman who goes in for a public career in any profession amuse himself so--among other ways, of course?” Rees laughed rather bitterly. “Gentlemen who go in for a public career have private means, Mr. Goodhare,” said he. “Everybody knows I have nothing----” “But you are the eldest son?” “And heir to my father’s liabilities; nothing else, I assure you.” “But when you become Lady Marion’s husband--” The lad started in astonishment. The idea had never occurred to him. “Lady Marion’s husband!” he repeated, bewildered. “Why, Mr. Pennant, you are very modest. Or don’t you wish it to be talked about so soon? If so, I really beg your pardon. But you must know that it has already become common talk--” “It’s the first I’ve heard of it, though,” said Rees, dryly. “Lord St. Austell would never let me enter Llancader Castle again if I were to hint at such a thing.” “And Lady Marion herself?” suggested the librarian, with malice. Rees laughed rather self-consciously. “Poor girls! They must have some creature to talk to, especially now, for this fright about scarlet fever has caused his lordship to give orders for them to remain shut up here all through the London season.” “And do you believe that, being as fond of you as his lordship is, that his daughter would not be able to talk him round?” “I am sure she would not. I know the earl.” “So do I; and I say he would.” Rees shrugged his shoulders. He was rather impressed by the tone of quiet conviction of the elder man. After a short pause he said, hesitatingly: