ach. You'll find a few salmon to
kill--trout and all that. Think of the joy of whipping a stream, after
having been mewed up all these months in the musty metropolis! Besides,
I made a wager with Jocelyn you wouldn't refuse a second opportunity to
bask in Arcadia." He laughed. "'I really couldn't presume to ask him
again,' is the way she expressed it, 'but if you can draw a sufficiently
eloquent picture of the rural attractions of Strathorn to woo him from
his beloved dusty byways, you have my permission to try.'"

"Did she say that?" John Steele spoke quickly. Then, "I am sorry, it is
impossible, but," in a low tone, "how is Miss Wray?"

"Never better. Enjoying every moment. Jolly party and all that. Lord
Ronsdale and--" Here Sir Charles enumerated a number of people.

"Lord Ronsdale is there?"

"Yes; couldn't keep him away from Strathorn House now," he laughed. "As
a matter of fact he has asked my permission to--there!" Sir Charles
stopped, then laughed again with a little embarrassment. "I've nearly
let the cat out of the bag."

John Steele spoke no word; his face was set, immovable; his lashes
shaded his eyes. A flood of traffic at a corner held them; he appeared
attentive only for it. The wheels pounded and rattled; the whips snapped
and cracked.

"You mean he has proposed for her hand and she--" Steele seemed to speak
with difficulty--"has consented?"

The noise almost drowned the question but Sir Charles heard.

"Well, not exactly. She appears complaisant, as it were," he answered.
"But really, I shouldn't have mentioned the matter at all; quite
premature, you understand. Let's say no more about it. And--what was it
you said about going back with me?"

"Yes," said John Steele with a sudden strength and energy that Sir
Charles might attribute to the desire to make himself understood above
the din of the street. "I'll go back with you at"--the latter words,
lower spoken, the other did not catch--"no matter what cost!"

Sir Charles dodged a vehicle; he did not observe the light, the fire,
the sudden play of fierce, dark passion on his companion's face.

"Good!" he said. "And when you get tired of 'books in the running
brooks'--"

Steele's hand closed on his arm. "When do you leave?" he asked abruptly.

"To-day--to-morrow--Suit your convenience."

"Let it be to-day, then! To-day!"

Sir Charles looked at him quickly; John Steele's face recovered its
composure.

"I believe I have become weary of wha