rain. He was learned in weather lore and most of his life
was passed out of doors,--so that it was important to him to ascertain
if he could, the forecast of each day. It meant whether he might expect
a hunting, or a shooting, or a fishing day. This was infinitely more
interesting than the conversation, though he was always ready for
conversation if nothing better offered.

"Humph!" muttered his grandmother a second time, and stole a glance, a
long, furtive, appraising glance--not at the sunset, but at the profile
which it threw into such bold relief.

Apparently it satisfied her, for her own features relaxed, and her eyes
sought the floor in meditation.

("She might be caught by his looks, why not? The other two are always
glad to talk to Val, and Heaven knows it is not for anything he says. He
contrives to make them laugh--he has a kind of oddity that goes
down--but if he were an ugly fellow they would not trouble their heads
about that. Now, if Leonore----she is but a child still, and as she
could marry a man called Stubbs to begin with, she can't be particular.
Anyhow it is worth trying for.")

"Val?"--suddenly the peremptory old voice rang out.

Val yawned and turned round.

"I am so sorry for dear little Leonore, I can't get her out of my head."

"Well, I'm sorry too." With an effort Val recalled what he had to be
sorry for, but that done, he assumed a solemn air that did him
credit--and indeed we are wrong in using the word "assumed," since
directly he remembered or reflected upon the woes of others, Valentine
Purcell's kind heart was touched.

"I'm awfully sorry," he reiterated now, shaking his head.

"It is so sad for her, is it not?"

"Awfully sad; I say, do you think she'd join the hunt?" Suddenly his
eyes lit up, and he started to attention. "We do want some more
subscribers jolly badly. If Leonore----"

"Not just at present, my dear,--but, yes, certainly, by-and-by, when she
has settled down here, and left off her weeds."

"Her what?" he stared.

"Her widow's weeds, dear boy. The poor child must wear them, you know.
White collars and cuffs, and that kind of thing. Happily she need not
disfigure her sweet face by a frightful cap as _I_ had to do."

"Oh, Lor! Do you mean Leo will have to turn out in a thing like that?"

"My dear, I just said she would _not_."

"But she might, he-he-he!" he chuckled, but the next moment was again
preternaturally grave. "I had no idea. Poor Leo!"

This was