“Ah, Tanagra!” said Mr. Wradisley, with a momentary gleam of interest. He laid his hand not unkindly on his little sister’s shoulder, as she handed him, exactly as he liked it, his cup of tea. “It is the less matter, for Lucy would not have appreciated them,” he said. “When,” said Mrs. Wradisley, with a little gasp, “do you expect your friends, Reginald? October is getting on, and the ladies that belong to them will lie heavy on our hands if we have bad weather.” “Oh, the guns,” said Mr. Wradisley. “Don’t call them my friends, mother--friends of the house, friends of the covers, if you like. Not so great a nuisance as usual this year, since Raaf is here, but no intimates of mine.” “We needn’t stand upon words, Reginald. They are coming, anyhow, and I never remember dates.” “Useless to attempt it. You should make a memorandum of everything, which is much more sure. I can tell you at once.” He took a note-book from his pocket, unerringly, without the usual scuffle to discover in which pocket it was, and, drawing a chair near his mother, began to read out the names of the guests. Then there ensued a little discussion as to where they were to be placed; to Mrs. Wradisley proposing the yellow room for one couple who had already, in Mr. Wradisley’s mind, been settled in the green. It was not a very great difference, but the master of the house had his way. A similar little argument, growing fainter and fainter on the mother’s side, was carried on over the other names. In every case Mr. Wradisley had his way. “I am going to run down to the park gates--that is, to the village,--I mean I am going to see Mrs. Nugent,” said Lucy, “while mother and Reginald settle all these people. Raaf, will you come?” “And I, too?” said Bertram, with a pleasant smile. He had a pleasant smile, and he was such a gentleman, neither rough like Raaf, nor over-dainty like Reginald. Lucy was very well content he should come too. CHAPTER II.