The next day, Sunday, was, on the whole, quite enjoyable. Everybody except one of the London men went to church in the morning. In the afternoon, Leonard, to his great delight, got Gloria to himself, and they went for a long walk from after lunch till close upon tea-time. No other guests were present at dinner, for which the young man was very grateful. The elderly people gravitated naturally to each other, and left the young couple very much to themselves. They carried on a low-toned conversation at the far end of the big drawing-room. In the course of it, Leonard suggested they should soon have another lunch in town, Gloria was quite willing. “I think you can suggest it quite openly now,” she said. “As a matter of fact, you can include auntie if you like, but she will be quite certain to refuse. She has so many interests at Effington and she so loves the place, that it is difficult to drag her up to London except when she wants new clothes. And really you might pay Uncle Howard the compliment also, and, ten to one, the result would be the same. He takes a good many holidays, but when he does go to his business he works like a horse, so at least he tells us, and has no time for frivolity.” “Works hard and plays hard,” remarked Lydon. “So far as I can judge from my short stay here, he seems to revel in the good things of life.” Miss Stormont smiled. “You have judged him quite accurately. My dear old uncle is a perfect sybarite, a crumpled rose-leaf in his bed would disturb him acutely. He likes the best of everything, ‘the best that money can buy,’ as he puts it in his rather blunt fashion. The most perfect food, the choicest cigars, the rarest wines. Of course he has to dine out here a good deal, as he cannot affront his neighbours by refusing. But the dear man really prefers entertaining to being entertained.” “When he entertains, he is sure of the quality, eh? He knows he won’t be put off with the second best,” laughed Lydon. “Away from home he might get an inferior vintage or an inferior cigar.” “I am afraid he has that idea at the back of his mind,” admitted his niece. “Well, if he should accept my invitation to lunch, I will take him to my best club and allow him to order the luncheon,” said Lydon, speaking in the same light spirit. “Well, what about Mrs. Barnard? Is she a sybarite like her brother?” “Not in the least. Like me, her individual tastes are very simple, she likes moderate comfort, but she has no hankering after luxury. She is a frightfully energetic woman, busies herself in everything going on in the neighbourhood, local charities and so forth, and writes letters by the score. She would die of _ennui_ if her hands were not fully occupied. And, of course, at her time of life, sport has no attraction for her. She is rather devoted to bridge, but she never plays it till the evening.”