Castle Dare.  I think it is hard on the poor old mother that she should have all the pinching, and none of the squandering; but women seem to have rather a liking for these sacrifices, and both she and Janet are very proud of the family name; I believe they would live on sea-weed for a year if only their representative in London could take Buckingham Palace for the season.  And Hamish—­don’t you remember Hamish?—­he will give you a hearty welcome to Dare, and he will tell you the truth about any salmon or stag you may kill, though he was never known to come within five pounds of the real weight of any big salmon I ever caught.  Now then, what do you say?”

“Ah, it is all very well,” said Lieutenant Ogilvie.  “If we could all get what we want, there would scarcely be an officer in Aldershot Camp on the 12th of August.  But I must say there are some capitally good fellows in our mess—­and it isn’t every one gets the chance you offer me—­and there’s none of the dog-in-the-manger feeling about them:  in short.  I do believe, Macleod, that I could get off for a week or so about the 20th.”

“The 20th?  So be it.  Then you will have the blackcock added in.”

“When do you leave?”

“On the 1st of August—­the morning after my garden party.  You must come to it, Ogilvie.  Lady Beauregard has persuaded her husband to put off their going to Ireland for three days in order to come.  And I have got old Admiral Maitland coming—­with his stories of the press-gang, and of Nelson, and of the raids on the merchant-ships for officers for the navy.  Did you know that Miss Rawlinson was an old sweetheart of his?  He knew her when she lived in Jamaica with her father—­several centuries ago you would think, judging by their stories.  Her father got L28,000 from the government when his slaves were emancipated.  I wish I could get the old admiral up to Dare—­he and the mother would have some stories to tell, I think.  But you don’t like long journeys at ninety-two.”

He was in a pleasant and talkative humor, this bright-faced and stalwart young fellow, with his proud, fine features and his careless air.  One could easily see how these old folks had made a sort of a pet of him.  But while he went on with this desultory chatting about the various people whom he had met, and the friendly invitations he had received, and the hopes he had formed of renewing his acquantainceship with this person and the next person, should chance bring him again to London soon, he never once mentioned the name of Miss Gertrude White, or referred to her family, or even to her public appearances, about which there was plenty of talk at this time.  Yet Lieutenant Ogilvie, on his rare visits to London, had more than once heard Sir Keith Macleod’s name mentioned in conjunction with that of the young actress whom society was pleased to regard with a special and unusual favor just then; and once or twice he, as Macleod’s friend, had been archly questioned on the subject