Lawrence recognized Isabel at a glance, but he was not abashed.  He scarcely gave her a second thought till he had satisfied himself that Val Stafford was not present.  Lawrence smiled, not at all surprised:  he had had a presentiment that Val, the modest easy-going Val of his recollections, would be detained at Countisford:  too modest by half, if he was shy of meeting an old friend!  Rowsley Stafford was doing the honours and came forward to be introduced to Lawrence, a ceremony remarkable only because they both took an instantaneous dislike to each other.  Lawrence disliked Rowsley because he was young and well-meaning and the child of a parsonage, and Rowsley disliked Lawrence because a manner which owed some of its serenity to his physical advantages, and his tailor, and his income, irritated the susceptibilities of the poor man’s son.

Poor men’s sons were often annoyed by Lawrence Hyde’s manner.  Not so Jack Bendish, sprawling in a deck chair which had no sound pair of notches:  not so his wife, Laura’s sister, Yvonne of the Castle, curled up on a moth-eaten tigerskin rug, and clad in raiment of brown and silver which even Mr. Stafford would not have credited to Chapman’s General Drapery and Grocery Stores.  Isabel was innocently surprised when the Bendishes found they had met Captain Hyde in town.  Laura’s smile was very faintly tinged with bitterness:  she knew of that small world where every one meets every one, though she had been barred out of it most of her life, first by her disreputable father and then by the tragedy of her marriage:  Rowsley pulled his tooth-brush moustache and said nothing.  He was young, but not so young as Isabel, and there were moments when he felt his own footing at the Castle to be vaguely anomalous.

However, the talk ran easily.  Lawrence, as was inevitable, sat down by Yvonne Bendish:  she did not raise an eyelash to summon him, but it seemed to be a natural law that the rich unmarried man should sit beside her and talk cosmopolitan scandal, and show a discreet appreciation of her clothing and her eyes.  Meanwhile the other four conversed with much greater simplicity upon such homely subjects as the coming school treat and the way Isabel had done her hair, Rowsley’s regimental doings, and a recent turn-up between Jack Bendish as deputy M. F. H. and Mr. Morley the Jew.

Bernard Clowes had described Mrs. Jack Bendish as a plain little devil, but as a rule the devilry was more conspicuous than the plainness.  She was a tall and extremely slight woman, her features insignificant and her complexion sallow, but her figure indecorously beautiful under its close French draperies.  And yet if she had let Lawrence alone he would have gone over to the other camp.  How they laughed, three out of the four of them, and what marvellous good tea they put away!  The little Stafford girl had a particularly infectious laugh, a real child’s giggle which doubled her up in her chair.  Lawrence had no desire to join in the school treat and barnyard conversation, but he would have liked to sit and listen.