as he calls it, and, smothering a sigh, starts for a quick walk
across his land, and looks at a field or two, or into the nearest
paddock, and asks his steward how things are going on, and if all is
as satisfactory now as in the old days when his father held the reins
of government, and, having listened absently to comfortable answers
and cheerful predictions for the future, strolls away again,
thoroughly content, not caring to investigate matters further.

He is fond of London life, and spends a good deal of his time there;
is courted and petted and made much of by enterprising dowagers with
marriageable daughters, as a young man charming, well bred, altogether
_chic_, and undoubted heir to an earldom; for of Arthur Sartoris's
ever marrying, now he has so long passed the prime of life, no one
ever dreams.

He knows all the best people in town, and puts in a good time when
there; is a fair hand at whist, and can beat most men at billiards;
will now and then put money on a favorite for the Oaks or the Grand
National, but cannot be said to regard gambling as an amusement. He is
extravagant in many ways, but thoroughly unselfish and kind-hearted,
and generous to a fault. He is much affected by women, and adored by
children, who instinctively accept him as a true friend.

Horace, both in face and in figure, is strangely like his brother,--in
character very different. He is tall and well built, with eyes large,
dark, and liquid, but rather too closely set to be pleasing. His mouth
is firm and somewhat hard, his smile soft, but uncertain. He is always
charming to women, being outwardly blind to their caprices and an
admirer of their follies, and is therefore an immense favorite with a
certain class of them, whose minds are subservient to their bodies.
Yet to every rule there is an exception. And by women good and true,
and loyal, Horace has been, and is, well beloved.

* * * * *

As Lord Sartoris and Dorian cross the hall, they meet Horace, and a
pretty girl--tall, slender, and graceful--coming towards them. She
appears sad, and slightly distressed, but scarcely unnerved: there is
a suspicion of tears about her large gray eyes. Her gown, of violet
velvet (for, though they are in the merry month of May, the days are
still cold and fretful), sits closely to her perfect figure; a Langtry
bonnet, to match her dress, covers her head and suits admirably her
oval face and Grecian nose and soft pea