“How d’ye do? how d’ye do?” said the peer as he advanced. He was a slight, short man with bushy gray whiskers and grizzled hair which, being rather long, strayed over the fur collar of his overcoat. A noble aquiline nose and keen eyes helped to give him, despite his shortness, an air of being somebody. “How d’ye do? Why,” he continued, locking round, “you are quite _en fête_ here.” “We have been at a bazaar, Lord Dynmore,” Laura answered. She was rather a favorite with him and could “say things.” “I think you ought to have been there too, to patronize it. We did not know that you were in the country, but we sent you a card.” “Never heard a word of it!” replied his lordship positively. “But you must have had the card,” Laura persisted. “Never heard a word of it!” repeated his lordship, who had by this time shaken hands with everyone in the room. When the company was not too large he made a rule of doing this, thereby obviating the ill results of a bad memory, and earning considerable popularity. “Archdeacon, you are looking very well,” he continued. “I think I may say the same of you,” answered the clerical dignitary. “You have had good sport?” “Capital! capital!” replied the peer in his jerky way. “But it won’t last my time! In two years there will not be a head of buffalo in the States! By the way, I saw your nephew.” “My nephew!” echoed the archdeacon. “Yes. Had him up to dinner in Kansas city. A good fellow—a very good fellow. He put me up to one or two things worth knowing.” “But, Lord Dynmore, you must be thinking of some one else!” replied the archdeacon in a fretful tone. “It could not be my nephew: I have not a nephew out there.” “No?” replied the earl. “Then it must have been the dean’s. Or perhaps it was old Canon Frampton’s—I am not sure now. But he was a good fellow, an excellent fellow!” And my lord looked round and wagged his head knowingly. The archdeacon’s niece, a young lady who had not seen the peer before, nor indeed any peers, and who consequently was busy making a study of him, looked astonished. Not so the others who knew him and his ways. It was popularly believed that Lord Dynmore could keep two things, and two only, in his mind—the head of game he had killed in each and every year since he first carried a gun, and the amount of his annual income from the time of the property coming to him. “There have been changes in the parish since you were here last,” said Mrs. Hammond, deftly intervening. She saw that the archdeacon looked a little put out. “Poor Mr. Williams is gone.” “Ah! to be sure! to be sure!” replied the earl. “Poor old chap. He was a friend of my fathers’, and now you have a friend of mine in his place. From generation to generation, you know. I remember now,” he continued, tugging at his whiskers peevishly, “that I meant to see Lindo before I called here. I must look him up by-and-by.” “I hope he will save you the trouble,” Mrs. Hammond answered. “I am expecting him every minute.”