Spunyarn too would certainly be a break in the monotony of the life at The Warren. Haggard drove over some five miles on that hot summer day about noon, in the squire's well-appointed dog-cart, to meet his friend Lord Spunyarn, and it was with unaffected pleasure that he shook hands with him upon the platform of the little station. Had they been Frenchmen, they would have rushed into each other's arms and saluted mutually on either cheek. As it was, they merely smiled and nodded, with a mutual, "How are you, old man?" and a careless inquiry from Lord Spunyarn as to the health of "your people" followed as a matter of course. During the five-and-twenty minutes' sharp drive home, they talked of the heat, the crops and the fishing; for the squire's smart groom rendered anything but general conversation impossible: the bay mare, too, was full of oats, and a puller. Lord Spunyarn was a welcome guest to everybody; the whole party came out to meet him at the door, and with rural hospitality a substantial meal was quickly placed before him. The cool of the afternoon was got through by means of the inevitable croquet; in those days croquet was inevitable wherever there were ladies and a lawn. At The Warren both ladies and lawn were particularly attractive; the ubiquitous curate was conspicuous by his absence; there was a little play, a good deal of small talk, and as usual, Lord Spunyarn was particularly attentive to Lucy Warrender. Now-a-days it is the fashion for the youth of England to leave the spinsters out in the cold, and to affect the society of the more attractive among the married ladies only. But Spunyarn was no lady-killer, and if he had been, there was a certain air about Georgie Haggard, a kind of notice to trespassers, that would have warned off the most determined poacher. His lordship at once resumed his old position of everybody's friend; he chatted with the cousins, he talked politics with old Warrender, he complimented the head gardener; and when Lucy Warrender, assuming a pensive air, inquired if he had no secrets to tell her, he calmly replied: "There is nothing new, I think, Miss Warrender; nothing new, at least, to you; yours as ever, you know, till death," he added with a little laugh. "True knight," she cried, "ever faithful?" "To you, and to your cousin," he added with a little bow. "Why, you don't even offer me an undivided affection," said the girl. "I suppose you are reserving yourself for the high jinks at The Park, Lord Spunyarn," she said. "Connie Sleek's a pretty girl, you know, and there are piles of untold gold, but in your case, though, that isn't an inducement." "I'm too great a snob myself, dear Miss Warrender, at least, by birth, as you know, ever to fall a victim to a financial belle."