"To a little village way up in the outskirts of Skye," I replied with a smile. "More burial, young lady—and more hard work." "You ought to take a bit of a rest, Dick," said Bill Lakington. "You deserve it...." "After I’ve broken the back of the book, I shall," I answered. "Are you writing a novel, Sir Richard?" inquired the girl. "No such claim to immortality," I sighed. "My subject is the mode of life of Glossina palpales—with illustrations." "And who are they when they’re at home?" she asked, dubiously. "Flies—whose conduct is not above suspicion. Shall I present you with a copy?" "Rather. As long as you don’t expect me to read it.—Hullo! Bob. Going to anything to-night?" "We’re staggering to Daly’s, old thing...." With a feeling of mild curiosity I glanced at the boy who had paused by our table on the way out: a clean-cut, good-looking youngster. No outsider, this future seventeenth earl, like the distant cousin.... Yes, one could see where the good fortune came in.... We, too, were going to Daly’s, and we all passed out of the restaurant together. I had a word or two with the youngster as we waited for the car: he was keen as mustard on hearing about Africa, and especially Uganda.... "Everybody is tottering out to the country these days, Sir Richard, and ’pon my word, I don’t blame ’em..." "If they can, no more do I. But the head of the family can’t go, my dear boy.... That’s the drawback to responsibility." "Do you know Fingarton?" A gleam came into his eyes as he spoke. "I’m afraid I don’t," I answered. "I’ve never met your father." "Go and look him up, if you’re in those parts," he said, impulsively. "It’ll do the dear old governor good.... He’s burying himself too much up there, and it’s lonely for him.. I’ve written and written just lately, and I can’t get any answer out of him.... I want him to come South—he will for my wedding, of course—but these last few months, if ever I do get a line from him, it’s in reply to a letter about three weeks old...." "Come on, Sir Richard...." Molly Lakington was calling me from the car.... "We mustn’t miss the last part of the first act...." Undoubtedly not, and with a nod to the youngster I stepped into the car. "A good lad that, Bill," I remarked. "Aye ... a good lad.... But not _quite_ so good as the other," he answered, thoughtfully. "He’s good enough for Cecilie, anyway, old man, and that’s saying a good deal," said Molly.... By the light of a passing lamp I saw Bill Lakington’s face. He was smiling quietly to himself, as a man smiles when he has his own opinion, but refuses to argue about it.... "Besides, you scarcely knew the first son," pursued Molly. "I’ve heard you say so yourself." "No, my dear, but I knew the first wife," answered her father, still with the same quiet smile. Evidently, on the subject of Betty Fingarton, Bill was adamant.