out him.
He had known how to live before his marriage; now that the marriage had
proved a failure, he would still know how to make life bearable.

In this they wronged him.

CHAPTER VII.

"Ils n'employent les paroles que pour deguiser leurs
pensees."--VOLTAIRE.

Even the most dyspeptic of the guests had acknowledged at breakfast,
some hours ago now, that a lovelier day could hardly be imagined. Lady
Baltimore, with a smile, had agreed with him. It was, indeed, impossible
not to agree with him. The sun was shining high in the heavens, and a
soft, velvetty air blew through the open windows right on to the table.

"What shall we do to-day?" Lady Swansdown, one of the guests, had asked,
addressing her question to Lord Baltimore, who just then was helping his
little son to porridge.

Whatever she liked.

"Then _nothing_!" says she, in that soft drawl of hers, and that little
familiar imploring, glance of hers at her hostess, who sat behind the
urn, and glanced back at her ever so kindly.

"Yes, it was too warm to dream of exertion; would Lady Swansdown like,
to remain at home then, and dream away the afternoon in a hammock?"

"Dreams were delightful; but to dream _alone_----"

"Oh, no; they would all, or at least most of them, stay with her." It
was Lady Baltimore who had said this, after waiting in vain for her
husband to speak--to whom, indeed, Lady Swansdown's question had been
rather pointedly addressed.

So at home they all had stayed. No one being very keen about doing
anything on a day so sultry.

Yet now, when luncheon is at an end, and the day still heavy with heat,
the desire for action that lies in every breast takes fire. They are all
tired of doing nothing. The Tennis-courts lie invitingly empty, and
rackets thrust themselves into notice at every turn; as for the balls,
worn out from _ennui_, they insert themselves under each arched instep,
threatening to bring the owners to the ground unless picked up and made
use of.

"Who wants a beating?" demands Mr. Browne at last, unable to pretend
lassitude any longer. Taking up a racket he brandishes it wildly,
presumably to attract attention. This is necessary. As a rule nobody
pays any attention to Dicky Browne.

He is a nondescript sort of young man, of the negative order; with no
features to speak of, and a capital opinion of himself. Income vague.
Age unknown.

"Well! That's _one_ way of putting it," says Miss Kavanagh, with a