"But look here," said Humphrey. "I told you to go," said Mrs Lloyd, pointing. "Your place is at the keeper's lodge. Go and stay there, and don't go thinking you can influence Master Dick--Mr Trevor--to keep you, because even if you could, the girl should go away, and you should see her no more. Now go." "Poor little lassie," muttered Humphrey, as, in obedience to Mrs Lloyd's pointing finger, he slowly left the room, walked heavily along the passage, and out into the dark evening, to pass round the house, and cross the lawn, where he could see through the open windows into the dining-room. "Nice for me," he muttered. "Forbidden to go near her--girl in my own station. What does the old woman mean?" He stood gazing in at the merry, laughing party of young, well-dressed men. "Nice to be you," he thought; "plenty of money to spend; people to do all you tell them to; nobody to thwart you. But I wonder what the old lady means." He laughed to himself directly after, in a low, bitter fashion. "No, not so bad as that," he said, half aloud. "She's ambitious, and scheming, but that would be going too far." Volume 2, Chapter II. KINKS IN THE LINE. Matters were not so pleasant, though, with the four occupants of the dining-room as Humphrey Lloyd believed. Vanleigh had his skeleton in the cupboard and was very impecunious; Sir Felix had wealth, but he was constantly feeling that his friend Vanleigh was an incubus whom he would give the world to shake off, but wanted the moral courage; Pratt suffered from poverty, and now told himself that he must be bored by his friend's affairs; lastly, Trevor had come down to his old home thinking it would be a bower of roses, and it was as full of thorns, as it could possibly be. The dinner had been a failure. At every turn the influence of Mrs Lloyd was perceptible, and proof given that so far she had been sole mistress of the house. "By the way, Vanleigh, try that claret," said Trevor, in the course of the dinner. "Lloyd, the claret to Captain Vanleigh." The Captain tasted it, and set down his glass. Pratt took a glass, and made a point of drinking it. Trevor saw there was something wrong. "Bring me that claret," he said. The butler poured him out a glass of very thin, poor wine. Lloyd was then proceeding to fill Sir Felix's glass, but he declined. "I thought we had some good old claret," said Trevor, fuming. "Yes, sir," said the butler. "Fetch a bottle directly," exclaimed Trevor. "Really, gentlemen, I am very sorry," he continued, as the butler went out of the room. "It's a mistake. Here, Robert, what champagne's that?" The footman brought a bottle from the ice-pail. "Why, confound it all!" cried Trevor, "I said the dry Clicquot was to be brought--such fools!" "Mr Lloyd did get out the Clicker, sir; but Mrs Lloyd said the second best would do, sir," replied the footman, glad of an opportunity to change the responsibility. "Then all the wine is of the ordinary kind?" said Trevor.