“Oh, no,” Gifford assured him.  “Although somehow I did feel rather out of it.  I have had rather a teasing day, but I shall be all right in the morning, and am looking forward to a run round the scenes of my childhood.”

“Good,” Kelson responded, relieved to think his friend’s visit was not after all going to be as dismal as he had begun to fear.  “Well, Hugh,” he added gaily.  “I have a piece of news for you.”

“Not that you are engaged?”

Something, an almost apprehensive touch, in Gifford’s tone rather took his friend aback.

“Why not?”

“To Miss—­the girl you were dancing with?”

Again Gifford’s tone gave a check to Kelson’s enthusiasm.

It was with a more serious face that he replied, “Muriel Tredworth, the best girl in England.  I hope, my dear Hugh, you are not going to say you don’t think so.”

“Certainly not,” Gifford answered promptly.  “I never saw or heard of her before to-night.”

Kelson laughed uncomfortably.  A man in love and in the flush of acceptance wants something more than a lukewarm reception of the news.  “I’m glad to hear it,” he responded dryly.  “From your tone one might almost imagine that you knew something against Muriel.”

“Heaven forbid!” Gifford ejaculated fervently.

“You don’t congratulate me,” his friend returned with a touch of suspicion.

Gifford forced a laugh.  “My dear Harry, you have taken my breath away.  You deserve the best wife in the kingdom, and I sincerely hope you have got her,” he said, not very convincingly.

His half-heartedness, not too successfully masked, evidently struck Kelson.  “One would hardly suppose you thought so,” he said in a hurt tone.  “I wish,” he added warmly, “if there is anything at the back of your words you would speak out.  I should hope we are old friends enough for that.”

Gifford glanced at the worried face of the big, simple-minded sportsman, more or less a child in his knowledge of the subtleties of human nature, and as he did so his heart smote him.

“We are, and I hope we always shall be,” he declared, grasping his hand.  “You are making too much of my unfortunate manner to-night, and I’m sorry.  With all my heart I congratulate you, and wish you every blessing and all happiness.”

There was an unmistakable ring of sincerity in his speech now, and, without going aside to question its motive, as a more penetrating mind might have done, Kelson accepted his friend’s congratulations without question.

“Thanks, old fellow,” he responded, brightening as he returned the grasp of Gifford’s hand.  “I was sure of your good wishes.  You need not fear I have made a mistake.  Muriel is a thorough good sort, and we shall suit each other down to the ground.  We’ve every chance of happiness.”

Before Gifford could reply there came a knock at the door.  The landlord entered.

“Beg your pardon, captain,” he said, “I’m sorry to trouble you, but could you tell me whether they are keeping up the Hunt Ball very late?”