"Well," said Sylvia, as she went out and closed the door. "It is plain these recriminations are not meant for me. Heigho! I wish Mr. Baker would come along just now, that I might have the satisfaction of refusing him. It is easy to see that Glengall is as completely forgotten as if he had never existed." No one could say that Mr. Graydon's youngest daughter was not loyal to the absent. CHAPTER XVIII. A PROPOSAL. Pamela Graydon had been Pamela Trevithick for three years, when one day in late summer Sylvia, still Sylvia Graydon, was entertaining a visitor in her London drawing-room. It was Lord Glengall, a shade greyer, a shade leaner, but looking well nevertheless, and brown with southern suns. "And so," he said, "we shall travel back to Ireland together." "It will be a delightful and unexpected pleasure to have your company." "You are glad to return, Sylvia?" "Glad! It is no word for it. I am hungry for the velvety wind that blows across the mountains. I am so tired of these glaring streets, of parties, and dinners and luncheons, and functions of all kinds." Lord Glengall laughed. "To tell you the truth, I am amazed and amused to find your father in the midst of it all." [Illustration: Half-resisting, Pamela was pulled by force.] "Papa! Oh, papa is the veriest Piccadilly lounger. He has returned to it all as freshly as if he had never left it. He discovered troops of old friends--without a misgiving--as soon as ever he came in for the title." "He doesn't pine for Carrickmoyle?" "Now and again. When the desire becomes very strong, he and I slip away to Euston some evening, forgetting all our engagements, and, for a few days, our new circumstances, at Carrickmoyle, where Bridget cooks our chops and makes us potato-cakes just as of old." "I am glad to hear Bridget is still to the fore." "She is not a day older." "She never carried out her threat of marrying my gardener?" "Mr. Grady is still a widdy-man, as they used to say in the dear country." "But to return to your father. The _magnum opus_ has become an accomplished fact. You see, I haven't been so far out of the world as not to have heard that." "Yes. It has been a great success. He is as much in request at learned societies and conversaziones as he is in fashionable drawing-rooms. To think of the years he vegetated at Carrickmoyle!" "Happy years, Sylvia." "I could hardly hope for happier." "He will be in soon, Sylvia?" "About half-past five," consulting a little watch fastened to her gown. "You can endure my company till then." "I shall try to. But am I not keeping you from afternoon calls or something? I saw a carriage at the door as I came in." "I have sent it away. I was rejoiced to do it. Papa will be simply wild with delight at your falling from the clouds like this." "He hasn't forgotten me, then?" "How should he? The only drawback about Carrickmoyle has been that we could see from it the cold chimneys of Glengall."