“Well, then, I'll write to dear old Aunt Maxwell--I suppose she'll be your aunt too before you leave Tilney (for we all adopt a relation so very rich and without an heir)--and delight her by saying that I have secured Mr. Maitland, an announcement which will create a flutter in the neighborhood by no means conducive to good archery.” “Tell her we only give him up till Wednesday,” said Lady Lyle, “for I hope to have the Crayshaws here by that time, and I shall need you all back to receive them.” “More beauties, Mr. Maitland,” exclaimed Mrs. Trafford. “What are you looking so grave about?” “I was thinking it was just possible that I might be called away suddenly, and that there are some letters I ought to write; and, last of all, whether I should n't go and make, a hurried visit to Mrs. Butler; for in talking over old friends in Scotland, we have grown already intimate.” “What a mysterious face for such small concerns!” said Mrs. Trafford. “Did n't you say something, papa, about driving me over to look at the two-year-olds?” “Yes; I am going to inspect the paddock, and told Giles to meet me there.” “What's the use of our going without Tony?” said she, disconsolately; “he's the only one of us knows anything about a colt.” “I really did hope you were beginning to learn that this young gentleman was not an essential of our daily life here,” said Lady Lyle, haughtily. “I am sorry that I should have deceived myself.” “My dear mamma, please to remember your own ponies that have become undrivable, and Selim, that can't even be saddled. Gregg will tell you that he does n't know what has come over the melon-bed,--the plants look all scorched and withered; and it was only yesterday papa said that he 'd have the schooner drawn up till Tony came back to decide on the new keel and the balloon jib!” “What a picture of us to present to Mr. Maitland! but I trust, sir, that you know something of my daughter's talent for exaggerated description by this time, and you will not set us down for the incapables she would exhibit us.” Lady Lyle moved haughtily away as she spoke; and Sir Arthur, drawing Mrs. Trafford's arm within his own, said, “You 're in a fighting mood to-day. Come over and torment Giles.” “There 's nothing I like better,” said she. “Let me go for my hat and a shawl.” “And I'm off to my letter-writing,” said Maitland. CHAPTER XVII. AT THE COTTAGE What a calm, still, mellow evening it was, as Tony sat with his mother in the doorway of the cottage, their hands clasped, and in silence, each very full of thought, indeed, but still fuller of that sweet luxury, the sense of being together after an absence,--the feeling that home was once more home, in all that can make it a centre of love and affection.