“Then,” said Lord Carbury, “we had better get down and stroll across the lawn.  Perhaps you are tired, though?”

“Not at all.  I should prefer it.  What a lovely avenue!  What greenery!  How—­”

“We were talking about Marmaduke.  Do you know what he is doing at present?  He talks of being busy, and of not having a moment to spare.  I can understand a fellow not having a moment to spare in June or July, but what Marmaduke has to do in London in September is more than I can imagine.”

“I do not care to enquire into these things too closely.  I had intended to speak to you on the subject.  Marmaduke, as I suppose you know, has taken a house at West Kensington.”

“A house at West Kensington!  No, I did not know it.  What has he done that for?”

“I fear he has been somewhat disingenuous with me on the subject.  I think he tried to prevent the matter coming to my ears; and when I asked him about it, he certainly implied—­in fact, I grieve to say he left me under the impression that he had taken the house with a view to marrying dear Constance, and settling down.  I expressed some surprise at his going so far out of town; but he did not volunteer any further explanation, and so the matter dropped.”  The Rev. George paused, and then continued in a lower tone, “Not long afterward I met him at a very late hour.  He had perhaps exceeded a little in his cups; for he spoke to me with the most shocking cynicism, inviting me to supper at this house of his, and actually accusing me of knowing perfectly well the terrible truth about his occupation of it.  He assured me that she—­meaning, I presume, the unhappy person with whom he lives there—­was exceptionally attractive; and I have since discovered that she is connected with the theatre, and of great notoriety.  I need not tell you how dreadful all this is to me, Jasper; but to the best of my judgment, which I have fortified by earnest prayers for guidance, it is my imperative duty to tell you of it.”

“The vagabond!  It is exactly as I have always said:  Constance is too tame for him.  He does not care a d——­”

“Jasper, my dear fellow, gently,” said the clergyman, pressing his arm.

“Pshaw!” said the Earl, “I dont care.  I think Constance is well out of it.  Let us drop the subject for the present.  I hear the carriage.”

“Yes, here it is.  Dear Lady Carbury has recognized me, and is waving her hand.”  The Rev. George stood on tiptoe as he spoke, and flourished his low-crowned soft felt hat.

During the ensuing greetings Carbury stood silent, looking at the horses with an expression that made the coachman uneasy.  At dinner he ate sedulously, and left the task of entertaining the visitor to his mother and the girls.  The clergyman was at no loss for conversation.  He was delighted with the dinner, delighted with the house, delighted to see the Countess looking so well, and delighted to hear that the tennis party that day had been a pleasant one.  The Earl listened with impatience, and was glad when his mother rose.  Before she quitted the dining-room he made a sign to her, and she soon returned, leaving Marian, Constance, and Elinor in the drawing-room.