"You will be very foolish if you don't go, then," Letitia advised. "The Rossdale grouse moors are almost the best in Scotland. Aunt Caroline is staying here for two days on her way to Harrogate. You must dine with us on Thursday night. She will be so disappointed if she does not see you at once." "You are very kind, Lady Letitia," he said. "I fear that I am inclined to encroach upon your hospitality." She picked a rose and held it to her lips for a moment. "We must amuse Aunt Caroline," she observed languidly. "It is many years since she imposed herself as a visitor here. We dine at a quarter past eight. This is the gate." He passed through it and turned to make his farewells. Her left hand was resting upon the iron railing, her right supported her parasol. She nodded to him a little curtly. "You promised," he reminded her, "that some day you would come over and help me about the garden." "Did I?" she answered. "Well, remind me sometime, won't you?" "Why not now?" he persisted. She shook her head. "I have to go and consult with Mrs. Foulds as to where to put all our visitors. Charlie Grantham is coming with aunt, I think, and we have so many rooms closed up. Don't fall into the moat. There's a bridge just to the left." She turned away, and David watched her for several moments before he swung round. He was conscious of a sudden and entirely purposeless feeling of anger, almost of fury. From the higher slopes of the park he turned and looked once more towards Mandeleys. Letitia had evidently forgotten her household duties. She had thrown herself back in her chair and was once more apparently engrossed in her book. CHAPTER XXVI David Thain, a few hours later, lounged in a basket chair in the one corner of his lawn from which he could catch, through the hedge of yew trees, a furtive glimpse of Mandeleys. By his side stood a small coffee equipage and an unopened box of cigars; in the distance was the vanishing figure of the quiet-mannered and very excellent butler with whom a famous registry office had endowed his household. It was an hour of supreme ease. An unusually warm day was succeeded by an evening from which only the warmth of the sun had departed, an evening full of scents from flowers and shrubs alike, an evening during which the thrushes prolonged their music until, from somewhere in the distant groves at the back of the house, a nightingale commenced, like the tuning up of an orchestra, to make faint but sweet essays at continued song. It was as light as day but there were stars already in the sky, and a pale, colourless moon was there, waiting for the slowly moving mantle of twilight. David Thain was alone with his thoughts.