was the first who broke the silence. "Is your father seriously
ill?" he asked.

Geoffrey answered by handing him the card.

Sir Patrick, who had stood apart (while the question of Ratcatcher's
relapse was under discussion) sardonically studying the manners and
customs of modern English youth, now came forward, and took his part
in the proceedings. Lady Lundie herself must have acknowledged that he
spoke and acted as became the head of the family, on t his occasion.

"Am I right in supposing that Mr. Delamayn's father is dangerously ill?"
he asked, addressing himself to Arnold.

"Dangerously ill, in London," Arnold answered. "Geoffrey must leave
Windygates with me. The train I am traveling by meets the train his
brother is traveling by, at the junction. I shall leave him at the
second station from here."

"Didn't you tell me that Lady Lundie was going to send you to the
railway in a gig?"

"Yes."

"If the servant drives, there will be three of you--and there will be no
room."

"We had better ask for some other vehicle," suggested Arnold.

Sir Patrick looked at his watch. There was no time to change the
carriage. He turned to Geoffrey. "Can you drive, Mr. Delamayn?"

Still impenetrably silent, Geoffrey replied by a nod of the head.

Without noticing the unceremonious manner in which he had been answered,
Sir Patrick went on:

"In that case, you can leave the gig in charge of the station-master.
I'll tell the servant that he will not be wanted to drive."

"Let me save you the trouble, Sir Patrick," said Arnold.

Sir Patrick declined, by a gesture. He turned again, with undiminished
courtesy, to Geoffrey. "It is one of the duties of hospitality, Mr.
Delamayn, to hasten your departure, under these sad circumstances. Lady
Lundie is engaged with her guests. I will see myself that there is no
unnecessary delay in sending you to the station." He bowed--and left the
summer-house.

Arnold said a word of sympathy to his friend, when they were alone.

"I am sorry for this, Geoffrey. I hope and trust you will get to London
in time."

He stopped. There was something in Geoffrey's face--a strange mixture of
doubt and bewilderment, of annoyance and hesitation--which was not to
be accounted for as the natural result of the news that he had received.
His color shifted and changed; he picked fretfully at his finger-nails;
he looked at Arnold as if he was going to speak--and then looked away
again, in silence.

"Is