APTER IX.

A HOUSE-PARTY AT ROSELAWN.

I.

As is the habit of the year, June followed May, and in its turn gave
way to the yellow hours of July. Lady Durwent, wearying of London and
its triumphs, returned to Roselawn to share the solitary, rural reign
of her husband.

As she drove in a sumptuous car through the village and into the wide
confines of the estate she purred with contentment. Men doffed their
caps, women curtsied, and the country-side mingled its smile with
theirs. It was not unlike the return of a conqueror from a campaign
abroad, and after the incognito forced by London on all but the most
journalised duchesses, it was distinctly pleasant to be acknowledged by
every one she passed.

In this most amiable of moods she dined with her husband, and was so
vivacious that, looking at her over his glass of port, he thought how
little she had changed since, years before, she had first affected his
subnormal pulse. Together they wandered over the lawns, and he showed
the improvements wrought since her last visit. She gave the
head-gardener the benefit of her unrestricted smile, and shed among all
the retainers a bountiful largesse of good-humour.

Still noting the beauties of Roselawn, they discussed their children.
She learned that Malcolm was on leave from the --th Hussars, and was
golfing in, and yachting off, Scotland with scions of the Scottish
nobility. The mention of Dick brought a pang to her heart, and a cloud
that marred the serenity of her husband's brow. Lord Durwent regretted
the necessity of his actions, but the boy had proved himself a 'waster'
and a 'rotter.' He had been given every chance, and had persistently
disgraced the family name. If he would go to Canada or Australia, he
could have money for the passage; otherwise----

After that imperialistic pronouncement, Lord Durwent turned to more
congenial topics, and spoke of additions to the stables and
improvements to the church. His wife answered mechanically, and it was
many minutes before the heart-hunger for the blue-eyed Dick was lulled.
She said nothing, for the development of her sons' lives had long since
passed from her to a system, but in the seclusion of their country home
the domestic tragedy made a deeper inroad on her feelings than it had
done in London.

It was perhaps not unnatural that they barely spoke of Elise at all.
She was visiting a county family in the north, and would be home in a
couple of days. As th