A week or two afterwards, Lord Bannerdale gave a hunt breakfast, and made a point of her being present; and she yielded though she would have preferred to have joined the meet at the coverts.  As she rode up, Lord Bannerdale came down the steps to meet her; and by his side was a tall, good-looking young fellow whom Ida rightly guessed, by his likeness to his father, to be Lord Bannerdale’s son.  He had returned from his travels on the preceding night, was in perfect health and spirits, much tanned by the sun and rain, and seemed to possess his full share of the amiability of his amiable family.  He stood, bare-headed, at Rupert’s head and took Ida’s hand to help her to dismount, and not only walked with her to the house, but contrived to sit beside her at the breakfast-table.  His people had been talking to him of Ida, he was quite prepared to be impressed, and that he was so was evident before the meal had concluded.  His mother paid particular attention to Ida, and Lord Bannerdale regarded the young pair approvingly.

Lord Edwin rode as straight as Ida herself; it was a magnificent run—­of course, “the best run of the season”—­and Lord Edwin, securing the brush, fastened it to her saddle.  Those who saw the act—­they were not many, for the pace had been fast and hard—­exchanged significant glances.  Lord Edwin was over at the Hall next day and displayed a keen interest in the restoration, and bent for some time over the plans which he had humbly begged Ida to show him.  He was a modest young fellow, with more intelligence and good sense than generally goes with his age, and Ida liked him.  It was inevitable that they should meet almost every day; it was almost as inevitable that he should fall in love with her; for she was not only the most beautiful girl in the county, but there was an element of romance in her loneliness and her fortunes which naturally appealed to him.

He went to his father one day and confided in him; but, though Lord and Lady Bannerdale were more than pleased, they begged him not to be too sanguine.

“Sanguine!” he exclaimed, colouring.  “I live in a state of mortal fear and dread; for though I love her more every time I see her, I never leave her without feeling that my case is hopeless.  There is something about Ida—­oh, of course I can’t explain!—­but I feel as if I could no more speak to her of love than I could—­could jump over this house.”

“And yet she is so gentle and friendly,” said Lady Bannerdale to encourage him.

The young fellow, wise in his generation, shook his head.

“That’s just it, mother,” he said, gravely.  “She treats me as if I were a brother, quite a young brother; and I know that if I were to speak to her, to let her know how much I love her, it would mean the end of everything.  I should never be able to see her again—­and I could not stand that; for I am only happy when I am with her—­and then I am miserable with the thought of having to leave her.”