“Calculations be hanged!” returned John.  “When a fellow comes out to dinner, he does not want to be met with ‘calculations.’  What else, Lionel?”

Lionel Verner laughed.  They were certain calculations drawn out by himself, connected with unavoidable work to be commenced on the Verner’s Pride estate.  For the last month he had been vainly seeking an opportunity of going over them with John Massingbird; that gentleman, who hated details as much as Master Cheese hated work, continually contrived to put it off.

“Have you given yourself the pleasure of making them out in duplicate, that you propose to show them here?” asked he, some irony in his tone.  “I thought they were in the study at Verner’s Pride.”

“I brought them home a day or two ago,” replied Lionel.  “Some alteration was required, and I thought I would do it quietly here.”

“You are a rare—­I suppose if I say ‘steward’ I shall offend your pride, Lionel?  ‘Bailiff’ would be worse.  If real stewards were as faithful and indefatigable as you, landlords might get on better than they do.  You can’t think how he plagues me with his business details, Miss Tempest.”

“I can,” said Lady Mary freely.  “I think he is terribly conscientious.”

“All the more so, that he is not going to be a steward long,” answered Lionel in a tone through which ran a serious meaning, light as it was.  “The time is approaching when I shall render up an account of my stewardship, so far as Verner’s Pride is concerned.”

“What do you mean by that?” cried John Massingbird.

“I’ll tell you to-morrow,” answered Lionel.

“I’d like to know now, if it’s all the same to you, sir,” was John’s answer.  “You are not going to give up the management of Verner’s Pride?”

“Yes, I am,” replied Lionel.  “I should have resigned it when my wife died, but that—­that—­Decima wished me to remain in Deerham until her marriage,” he concluded after some perceptible hesitation.

“What has Deerham done to you that you want to quit it?” asked John Massingbird.

“I would have left Deerham years ago, had it been practicable,” was the remark of Lionel.

“I ask you why?”

“Why?  Do you think Deerham and its reminiscences can be so pleasant to me that I should care to stop in it, unless compelled?”

“Bother reminiscences!” rejoined Mr. Massingbird.  “I conclude you make believe to allude to the ups and downs you have had in regard to Verner’s Pride. That’s not the cause, Lionel Verner—­if you do want to go away.  You have had time to get over that.  Perhaps some lady is in the way?  Some cross-grained disappointment in that line?  Have you been refusing to marry him, Lady Mary?”

Lady Mary threw her laughing blue eyes full in the face of the questioner.  “He never asked me, Mr. Massingbird.”

“No!” said John.