“Don’t know.  Ask the Rector.  He’s sure to turn up when he hears of the rats.”

“I think they must be—­a sort of spiritual tub.  But Morewood will never admit he’s been educated.  It detracts from his claim to genius.”

Eugene, freed from this frivolous company, was not long in discovering Claudia’s whereabouts.  He felt like a boy released from school and, turning his eyes away from future difficulties, was determined to enjoy himself while he could.  Claudia was seated on the lawn in complete idleness and, apparently, considerable discontent.

“Do your guests always scurry away without saying good-by to anybody, Mr. Lane?” she asked.

“I hope that you, at least, will not.  But didn’t Kate say good-by, or Haddington?”

“I meant Father Stafford, of course.”

“Oh, he had to go.  He sent an apology to you and all the party.”

“Did he tell you why he had to go?”

“No,” said Eugene, regarding her with covert attention.

“It’s a pity if he’s unaccountable.  I like him so much otherwise.”

“You don’t like unaccountable people?”

Claudia seemed quite willing to let Stafford drop out of the conversation.

“No,” she said; “I tolerate you, Mr. Lane, because I always know exactly what you’ll do.”

“Do you?” he asked, only moderately pleased.  A man likes to be thought a little mysterious.  No doubt Claudia knew that.

“I don’t think you know what I am going to do now.”

“What?”

“I’m going to ask you if you know why Father Stafford—­”

“Oh, please excuse me, Mr. Lane.  I can’t speculate on your friend’s motives.  I don’t profess to understand him.”

This might be indifference; it sounded to Eugene very like pique.

“I thought you might know.”

“Mr. Lane,” said Claudia, “either you mean something or you don’t.  If the one, you’re taking a liberty, and one entirely without excuse; if the other, you are simply tedious.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Eugene stiffly.

Claudia gave a little laugh.

“Why do you make me be so aggressive?  I don’t want to be.  Was I awfully severe?”

“Yes, rather.”

“I meant it, you know.  But did you come quite resolved to quarrel? I want to be pleasant.”  And Claudia raised her eyes with a reproachful glance.

“In anger or otherwise, you are always delightful,” said Eugene politely.

“I accept that as a diplomatic advance—­not in its literal sense.  After all, I must be nice to you.  You’re all alone this morning.”

“Lady Claudia,” said he gravely, “either you mean something or you do not.  If the one—­”

“Be quiet this moment!” she said, laughing.

He obeyed and lay back in his low chair with a sigh of content.

“Yes; never mind Stafford and never mind Kate.  Why should we?  They’re not here.”