suppose that in October there are plenty of pleasant people
back in town; and perhaps the dinner-parties are all the more enjoyable
when you know that the number of nice people is limited. One really does
get tired of this mental stagnation."

"I wish, Mr. Moore," said Lady Rosamund, rather spitefully (considering
that her brother was present), "you would take Rockminster with you. He
won't go on the hill, and he's no use in the drawing-room. I am certain
at this minute he would rather be walking down St. James Street to his
club."

"I don't wonder at it!" cried Miss Georgie Lestrange, coming gallantly
to the apathetic young man's rescue. "Look how he's situated. There's
Sir Hugh and my brother away all day; Lord Fareborough has never come
out of his room since the morning he tried deer-stalking; and what can
Lord Rockminster find to arouse him in a pack of girls? Oh, I know what
he thinks of us," she continued, very placidly. "I remember, if he
chooses to forget. Don't you recollect, Rose, the night we were
constructing an ideal kingdom by drawing up a list of all the people we
should have banished? Every one had his or her turn at saying who should
be expelled--people who come late to dinner, people who fence with
spiked wire, people who talk in theatres, people who say 'like he does,'
and so forth; and when somebody suggested 'all young women who wear red
veils,' Lord Rockminster immediately added, 'and all young women who
don't wear red veils.' Now you needn't deny it."

"Excuse me, I'm sure I never said anything of the kind; but it's not of
the least consequence," Lord Rockminster observed, with perfect
composure. "Anything to please you poor dears. You understand well
enough why I linger on here--just to give you young creatures a chance
of sharpening your wits on me. You wouldn't know what to do without me."

"Rockminster is going to give the world a volume of poems," said Lady
Rosamund, who seemed to be rather ill-tempered and scornful this
morning. "Nobody could stare at the clouds and hills as he does without
being a poet. When he does burst into speech it will be something
awful."

"Have you your flask filled?" said that much-bepestered young man,
calmly turning to Lionel.

"Oh, yes, thanks."

"When you get to Invershin," his lordship continued, thoughtfully, "you
can telegraph to the Station Hotel at Inverness what you want for
dinner. No soup; I make it a rule never to take soup in a big hotel; a
f