He gave his orders about the journey for the following day, then dressed and went out, remembering that he had two or three engagements for the evening. The season was nearly over, and many people had left London, but there seemed little diminution in the number of guests who were struggling up and down the wide staircase of a house at which Hugo presented himself about twelve o'clock that night, and he missed very few familiar faces amongst the crowd as he nodded greetings to his numerous acquaintances. "Ah, Luttrell," said a voice at his ear, "I was wondering if I should see you. I thought you might be off to Scotland already." "Who told you I was going to Scotland?" said Hugo. The dark shadow had crossed his face again; if there was a man in England whom at that time he cordially disliked, it was this man--Angela's brother--Rupert Vivian. He did not know why, but he always had a presage of disaster when he saw that high-bred, impassive face beside him, or heard the modulation of Vivian's quiet, musical voice. Hugo was superstitious, and he firmly believed that Rupert Vivian's presence brought him ill luck. "Angela wrote to me that Mrs. Luttrell was inviting you to Netherglen. I was going there myself, but I have been prevented. A relation of mine in Wales is dying, and has sent for me, so I may not be able to get to Scotland for some weeks." "Sorry not to see you. I shall be gone by the time you reach Scotland, then," responded Hugo, amiably. "Yes." Rupert looked down with a reflective air. "Come here, will you?" he said, drawing Hugo aside into a small curtained recess, with a seat just wide enough for two, which happened at that moment to be empty. "I have something to ask you; there is something that you can do for me if you will." "Happy to do anything in my power," murmured Hugo. He did not like to be asked to help other people, but there was a want of assurance in Vivian's usually self-contained demeanour which roused his curiosity. "What is it?" "Well, to begin with, you know the Herons and Miss Murray, do you not?" "I know them by name. I have met Percival Heron sometimes." "Do you know that they have returned rather unexpectedly from Italy and gone to Strathleckie, the house on the other side of the property--about six miles from Netherglen?" "How's that?" "I suppose that Miss Murray thinks she may as well take possession of her estate," replied Rupert, rather shortly. "May I ask whether you are going to call?" "Oh, yes, I shall certainly call." "Then, look here, Luttrell, I want you to do something for me," said Vivian, falling into a more friendly and confidential strain than he usually employed with Hugo. "Will you mention--in an incidental sort of way--to Mrs. Heron the reason why I have not come to Scotland--the claim that my relation in Wales has on me, and all that sort of thing? It is hardly worth while writing about it, perhaps; still, if it came in your way, you might do me a service."