“Withers lies, then!” the other retorted.  “I never touched Chev—­never came within a mile of him, and never could have.”

They reached the dinner-table with that, and young Cary found himself bewildered and uncomfortable.  If Gerald hadn’t liked praise of Chev, he had liked praise of himself even less, it seemed.

Dinner was not a success.  The Virginian found that, if there was to be conversation, the burden of carrying it on was upon him, and gosh! they don’t mind silences in this man’s island, do they? he commented desperately to himself, thinking how different it was from America.  Why, there they acted as if silence was an egg that had just been laid, and everyone had to cackle at once to cover it up.  But here the talk constantly fell to the ground, and nobody but himself seemed concerned to pick it up.  His attempt to praise Chev had not been successful, and he could understand their not wanting to hear about flying and the war before Gerald.

So at last, in desperation, he wandered off into descriptions of America, finding to his relief, that he had struck the right note at last.  They were glad to hear about the States, and Lady Sherwood inquired politely if the Indians still gave them much trouble; and when he assured her that in Virginia, except for the Pocahontas tribe, they were all pretty well subdued, she accepted his statement with complete innocency.  And he was so delighted to find at last a subject to which they were evidently cordial, that he was quite carried away, and would up by inviting them all to visit his family in Richmond, as soon as soon as the war was over.

Gerald accepted at once, with enthusiasm; Lady Sherwood made polite murmurs, smiling at him in quite a warm and almost, indeed, maternal manner.  Even Sir Charles, who had been staring at the food on his plate as if he did not quite know what to make of it, came to the surface long enough to mumble, “Yes, yes, very good idea.  Countries must carry on together—­What?”

But that was the only hit of the whole evening, and when the Virginian retired to his room, as he made an excuse to do early, he was so confused and depressed that he fell into an acute attack of homesickness.

Heavens, he thought, as he tumbled into bed, just suppose, now, this was little old Richmond, Virginia, U.S.A., instead of being Bishopsthorpe, Avery Cross near Wick, and all the rest of it!  And at that, he grinned to himself.  England wasn’t such an all-fired big country that you’d think they’d have to ticket themselves with addresses a yard long, for fear they’d get lost—­now, would you?  Well, anyway, suppose it was Richmond, and his train just pulling into the Byrd Street Station.  He stretched out luxuriously, and let his mind picture the whole familiar scene.  The wind was blowing right, so there was the mellow homely smell of tobacco in the streets, and plenty of people all along the way to hail him with outstretched hands and shouts