“I walked from Newberry House,” answered he, carelessly.  “I met Lord Newberry two days ago, as I was coming here, and he persuaded me to alter my course and accompany him home.”

“Vastly flattering to your friends here,” said Lady Emily in a tone of pique.

“What! you walked all the way from Newberry,” exclaimed the Earl, “and the ground covered with snow.  How could you do so foolish a thing?”

“Simply because, as the children say, I liked it,” replied Lord Lindore, with a smile.

“That’s just of a piece with his liking to eat boiled mutton,” muttered the Doctor to Mary; “and yet, to look at him, one would really not expect such gross stupidity.”

There certainly was nothing in Lord Lindore’s appearance that denoted either coarseness of taste or imbecility of mind.  On the contrary, he was an elegant-looking young man, rather slightly formed, and of the middle size, possessing that ease and grace in all his movements which a perfect proportion alone can bestow.  There was nothing foreign or recherche either in his dress or deportment; both were plain, even to simplicity; yet an almost imperceptible air of hauteur was mingled with the good-humoured indifference of his manner.  He spoke little, and seemed rather to endure than to be gratified by attentions; his own were chiefly directed to his dog, as he was more intent on feeding it than on answering the questions that were put to him.  There never was anything to be called conversation at the dinner-table at Beech Park; and the general practice was in no danger of being departed from on the present occasion.  The Earl hated to converse—­it was a bore; and he now merely exchanged a few desultory sentences with his son, as he ate his olives and drank his claret.  Lady Juliana, indeed, spoke even more than her usual quantity of nonsense, but nobody listened to it.  Lady Emily was somewhat perplexed in her notions about her brother.  He was handsome and elegant, and appeared good-humoured and gentle; yet something was wanting to fill up the measure of her expectations, and a latent feeling of disappointment lurked in her heart.  Adelaide was indignant that he had not instantly paid her the most marked attention, and revenged herself by her silence.  In short, Lord Lindore’s arrival seemed to have added little or nothing to the general stock of pleasure; and the effervescence of joy—­the rapture of sensation, like some subtle essence, had escaped almost as soon as it was perceived.

“How stupid everybody always is at a dinner table!” exclaimed Lady Emily, rising abruptly with an air of chagrin.  “I believe it is the fumes of the meat that dulls one’s senses, and renders them so detestable.  I long to see you in the drawing-room Frederick.  I’ve a notion you are more of a carpet knight than a knight of the round table; so pray,” in a whisper as she passed, “leave papa to be snored asleep by Dr. Redgill, and do you follow us—­here is metal more attractive,” pointing to the sisters, as they quitted the room; and she followed without waiting for her brother’s reply.