“Don’t be alarmed, old chap, about me.  I feel calmer already.  I can face my situation firmly, and prepare for the worst.  While I have been sitting here I have thought out the future.  I will stay here four or five weeks.  I will only seek solace for myself by riding about where I may meet her.  I do not intend to go to the house at all.  My demon of a wife may have the whole house to herself.  I won’t even give her the pleasure of supposing that she has thwarted me.  She shall never even suspect the state of my heart.  That would be bliss indeed to one like her, for then she would find herself able to put me on the rack.  No, my boy; I’ve thought it all over.  Scone Dacres is himself again.  No more nonsense now.  Do you understand now what I mean?”

“Yes,” said Hawbury, slowly, and in his worst drawl; “but ah, really, don’t you think it’s all nonsense?”

“What?”

“Why, this ducking and diving about to get a glimpse of her face.”

“I don’t intend to duck and dive about.  I merely intend to ride like any other gentleman.  What put that into your head, man?”

“Well, I don’t know; I gathered it from the way you expressed yourself.”

“Well, I don’t intend any thing of the kind.  I simply wish to have occasional looks at her—­to get a bow and a smile of recognition when I meet her, and have a few additional recollections to turn over in my thoughts after I have left her forever.  Perhaps this seems odd.”

“Oh no, it doesn’t.  I quite understand it.  A passing smile or a parting sigh is sometimes more precious than any other memory.  I know all about it, you know—­looks, glances, smiles, sighs, and all that sort of thing, you know.”

“Well, now, old chap, there’s one thing I want you to do for me.”

“Well, what is it?”

“It isn’t much, old fellow.  It isn’t much.  I simply wish you to visit there.”

“Me?—­visit there?  What! me—­and visit?  Why, my dear fellow, don’t you know how I hate such bother?”

“I know all about that; but, old boy, it’s only for a few weeks I ask it, and for my sake, as a particular favor.  I put it in that light.”

“Oh, well, really, dear boy, if you put it in that light, you know, of course, that I’ll do any thing, even if it comes to letting myself be bored to death.”

“Just a visit a day or so.”

“A visit a day!” Hawbury looked aghast.

“It isn’t much to ask, you know,” continued Dacres.  “You see my reason is this:  I can’t go there myself, as you see, but I hunger to hear about her.  I should like to hear how she looks, and what she says, and whether she thinks of me.”

“Oh, come now! look here, my dear fellow, you’re putting it a little too strong.  You don’t expect me to go there and talk to her about you, you know.  Why, man alive, that’s quite out of my way.  I’m not much of a talker at any time; and besides, you know, there’s something distasteful in acting as—­as—­By Jove!  I don’t know what to call it.”