"Yes, sir," said the groom, with the inevitable movement towards his hat, whip and hand going up together. "Her ladyship always drives them herself, sir. Fine whip, her ladyship, sir." This item of information surprised Jim Airth. Judging by Lord Ingleby's age and appearance, he had expected to find Lady Ingleby a sedate and stately matron of sixty. It was somewhat surprising to hear of her as a fine whip. However, he had no time to weigh the matter further. Passing an ivy-clad church on the village green, they swung through massive iron gates, of very fine design, and entered the stately avenue of Shenstone Park. To the left, in a group of trees, stood a pretty little gabled house. "What house is that?" asked Jim Airth, quickly. "The Lodge, sir." "Who lives there?" "Mrs. O'Mara, sir." "Has Mrs. O'Mara returned?" "I don't know, sir. She was up at the house with her ladyship this morning." "Then she _has_ returned," said Jim Airth. The groom looked perplexed, but made no comment. Jim Airth turned in his seat, and looked back at the Lodge. It was a far smaller house than he had expected. This fact did not seem to depress him. He smiled to himself, as at some thought which gave him amusement and pleasure. While he still looked back, a side door opened; a neatly dressed woman in black, apparently a superior lady's-maid, appeared on the doorstep, shook out a white table-cloth, and re-entered the house. They flew on up the avenue, Jim Airth noting every tree with appreciation and pleasure. The fine old house came into view, and a moment later they drew up at the entrance. "Good driving," remarked Jim Airth approvingly, as he tipped the little groom. Then he turned, to find the great doors already standing wide, and a stately butler, with immense black eyebrows, waiting to receive him. "Will you come to her ladyship's sitting-room, sir?" said the butler, and led the way. Jim Airth entered a charmingly appointed room, and looked around. It was empty. "Kindly wait here, sir, while I acquaint her ladyship with your arrival," said the pompous person with the eyebrows, and went out noiselessly, closing the door behind him. Left alone, Jim Airth commenced taking rapid note of the room, hoping to gain therefrom some ideas as to the tastes and character of its possessor. But almost immediately his attention was arrested by a life-size portrait of Lord Ingleby, hanging above the mantelpiece. Jim Airth walked over to the hearthrug, and stood long, looking with silent intentness at the picture. "Excellent," he said to himself, at last. "Extraordinarily clever. That chap shall paint Myra, if I can lay hands on him. What a jolly little dog! And what devotion! Mutual and absorbing. I suppose that is Peter. Queer to think that I should have been the last to hear him calling Peter. I wonder whether Lady Ingleby liked Peter. If not, I doubt if she would have had much of a look-in. If anyone went to the wall it certainly wasn't Peter."