nally, Lord John, nervous apparently,
most certainly embarrassed, settled upon him.

"Going to church, aren't you, Roddy?"

"Yes, Beaminster."

"Well, let's strike off together, shall we?"

Roddy liked Lord John best of the Beaminster brothers; the Duke he could
not endure and Lord Richard was so superior, but Johnny Beaminster was
as amiable as an Easter egg and fond of race meetings and pretty women,
and not too dam' clever--in fact, really, not clever at all.

But Johnny Beaminster embarrassed was another matter and Roddy found
soon that this embarrassment led to his own confusion.

Lord John flung out little remarks and little whistles because of the
heat and little comments upon the crops. He obviously had something that
he very much wanted to say--"Of course," thought Roddy, "this is
something to do with Rachel--he's very fond of Rachel."

Although Johnny Beaminster had not, in strict accuracy, himself the
reputation of the whitest of Puritans, yet Roddy wondered whether
perhaps he were not now worrying over some of Roddy's past history, as
rumoured in London society.

"Doesn't want his girl to be handed over to a reg'lar Black Sheep,
shouldn't wonder," thought Roddy, and this led him to rather indignant
consideration of the confusion of the Beaminster mind and its muddled
moralities.

The walk to the church was not very long, but it became, towards the
close of it, quite awful in its agitation.

"Dam' hot," said Lord John.

"Very," said Roddy.

"Wouldn't wonder if this weather broke soon----"

"Quite likely."

"Makes you hot walking to church this hour of the morning."

"Yes--don't it? Farmers will be wantin' rain pretty badly. Down at my
little place they tell me it's dried up like anythin'----"

"Reg'lar Turkish bath----"

"Well, the church ought to be cool----"

"You never know with these churches----"

Roddy thought "He's afraid of his old mother. Doesn't want me to marry
Rachel, but he's afraid of his old mother."

"Massiter's getting fat----" This was Lord John's contribution.

"Yes--so's that novelist feller----"

"Oh! Garden! Yes--ever read anything of his?"

"Never a line. Never read novels."

"Not bad--good tales, you know."

"He's probably," Roddy thought, "had a row with the old lady about
me----"

Then, strangely enough, the notion hit him--"Wish it was he wanted me to
marry Rachel and the Duchess didn't--Wish she didn't, by Gad."

As they entered the church Roddy