“I’m sure I envy you, Mr. Moore,” said his charming hostess, “going away back to the very centre of the intellectual world.  It will be such a change for you to find yourself in the very midst of everything—­hearing about all that is going on—­the new books, the new plays, the new pictures.  I suppose that in October there are plenty of pleasant people back in town; and perhaps the dinner-parties are all the more enjoyable when you know that the number of nice people is limited.  One really does get tired of this mental stagnation.”

“I wish, Mr. Moore,” said Lady Rosamund, rather spitefully (considering that her brother was present), “you would take Rockminster with you.  He won’t go on the hill, and he’s no use in the drawing-room.  I am certain at this minute he would rather be walking down St. James Street to his club.”

“I don’t wonder at it!” cried Miss Georgie Lestrange, coming gallantly to the apathetic young man’s rescue.  “Look how he’s situated.  There’s Sir Hugh and my brother away all day; Lord Fareborough has never come out of his room since the morning he tried deer-stalking; and what can Lord Rockminster find to arouse him in a pack of girls?  Oh, I know what he thinks of us,” she continued, very placidly.  “I remember, if he chooses to forget.  Don’t you recollect, Rose, the night we were constructing an ideal kingdom by drawing up a list of all the people we should have banished?  Every one had his or her turn at saying who should be expelled—­people who come late to dinner, people who fence with spiked wire, people who talk in theatres, people who say ‘like he does,’ and so forth; and when somebody suggested ’all young women who wear red veils,’ Lord Rockminster immediately added, ’and all young women who don’t wear red veils.’  Now you needn’t deny it.”

“Excuse me, I’m sure I never said anything of the kind; but it’s not of the least consequence,” Lord Rockminster observed, with perfect composure.  “Anything to please you poor dears.  You understand well enough why I linger on here—­just to give you young creatures a chance of sharpening your wits on me.  You wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

“Rockminster is going to give the world a volume of poems,” said Lady Rosamund, who seemed to be rather ill-tempered and scornful this morning.  “Nobody could stare at the clouds and hills as he does without being a poet.  When he does burst into speech it will be something awful.”

“Have you your flask filled?” said that much-bepestered young man, calmly turning to Lionel.

“Oh, yes, thanks.”

“When you get to Invershin,” his lordship continued, thoughtfully, “you can telegraph to the Station Hotel at Inverness what you want for dinner.  No soup; I make it a rule never to take soup in a big hotel; a friendly manager once warned me in confidence.  You’ll be glad to have a bit of white fish after so much grilse and sea-trout.”

“Oh, I’ll take my chance,” Lionel said; it was not dinner that was occupying his thoughts.