"I wonder now--would you care to come and spend a quiet week-end with us? Do you know that part of the country at all? It's very pleasant in the summer." "It's awfully kind of you," said McTaggart. He thought quickly through his engagements--"d'you mean _this_ week-end?" he asked--"if so, I shall be delighted." "Then that's settled"--the Bishop smiled--"we might travel down together to-morrow--I'm going by the three-fifteen. Would that suit you?" "Splendidly." Lady Leason watched the pair, a twinkle in her hazel eyes. "Well--no Neapolitan adventures." Mischievously she shook a finger at the younger man standing there. For no reason, apparently, McTaggart went a trifle red. "Oh--I've turned over a new leaf." The Bishop beamed at his cousin. "It wasn't his fault, Laura, my dear." "Of course not." She caught McTaggart's eye. "Though I don't _quite_ understand ... Oh, never mind!" She laughed aloud. "But don't demoralize Bertram." "I couldn't," said McTaggart, smiling. CHAPTER XXV McTaggart's week-end visit prolonged itself. For on Monday the Bishop drove him over to lunch at Rustall, Lord Warleigh's fine old Tudor mansion near Oxton. Here he found again a friend of college days, Gilbert Crewkerne, a nephew of the house, and received an unexpected invitation to move on to Rustall and take part in a cricket match fixed for the following Saturday. The Territorials, camping in the neighborhood, were sending an eleven to play against the house party. Unfortunately one of Lord Warleigh's guests had sprained his ankle and Crewkerne saw in McTaggart's visit to Oxton the kindly finger of Providence. Mario was delighted with the change of plans, approving this beautiful country house, with its vast rooms and fine old park. He had been dismayed by his London quarters, so poor a setting for his young master's rank, and the only flaw in the present scheme was the fact of McTaggart's strict prohibition. He would have liked to proclaim aloud the secret of the former's inheritance, and was not a little pained to find how little McTaggart valued his title. It lowered too his own sense of importance in the servants' hall, where each man took rank according to his master. He resented the butler's distant patronage, but his loyalty was proof against the strong temptation that beset him. A chance remark of his disclosed the fact to McTaggart one evening as he dressed for dinner. "Never mind, Mario. We'll go back to Rome for the winter months." He saw the olive face brighten and felt a sudden touch of pity. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? I expect you find it lonely in England--though you're picking up the language fast. Have you heard lately from Lucia?" He added the question with a smile. Lucia was the Principessa's maid and lived in a fine old Roman palace not far from his own flat. "Sissignore--a letter last week. They are still at Viareggio. The Poet was taken very ill and Don Cesare has fought a duel."