The change in him could hardly have been more marked, Vixen thought. Yes, the old Rorie--playfellow, scapegoat, friend of the dear old childish days--was verily dead and gone. "Shall we go and look at the presents?" asked Captain Winstanley. "What presents?" "Lady Almira's wedding presents. They are all laid out in the library. I hear they are very splendid. Everybody is crowding to see them." "I daresay mamma would like to go, and Mrs. Scobel," suggested Vixen. "Then we will all go together." They found the two matrons side by side on a settee, under a lovely girlish head by Greuze. They were both delighted at the idea of seeing the presents. It was something to do. Mrs. Tempest had made up her mind to abjure even square dances this evening. There was something incongruous in widowhood and the Lancers; especially in one's own neighbourhood. CHAPTER XVI. Rorie asks a Question. The library was one of the finest rooms at Southminster. It was not like the library at Althorpe--a collection for a nation to be proud of. There was no priceless Decameron, no Caxton Bible, no inestimable "Book of Hours," or early Venetian Virgil; but as a library of reference, a library for all purposes of culture or enjoyment, it left nothing to be desired. It was a spacious and lofty room, lined from floor to ceiling with exquisitely bound books; for, if not a collector of rare editions, Lord Southminster was at least a connoisseur of bindings. Creamy vellum, flowered with gold, antique brown calf, and russia in every shade of crimson and brown, gave brightness to the shelves, while the sombre darkness of carved oak made a background for this variety of colour. Not a mortal in the crowded library this evening thought of looking at the books. The room had been transformed into a bazaar. Two long tables were loaded with the wedding gifts which rejoicing friends and aspiring acquaintances had lavished upon Lady Almira. Each gift was labelled with the name of the giver; the exhibition was full of an intensely personal interest. Everybody wanted to see what everybody had given. Most of the people looking at the show had made their offerings, and were anxious to see if their own particular contribution appeared to advantage. Here Mrs. Scobel was in her element. She explained everything, expatiated upon the beauty and usefulness of everything. If she had assisted at the purchase of all these gifts, or had actually chosen them, she could not have been more familiar with their uses and merits. "You must look at the silver candelabra presented by Sir Ponto's workpeople, so much more sensible than a bracelet. I don't think Garrard--yes, it is Garrard--ever did anything better; so sweetly mythological--a goat and a dear little chubby boy, and ever so many savage-looking persons with cymbals." "The education of Jupiter, perhaps," suggested Captain Winstanley.