“Not in the least, but I am going all the same.”  Rose was still smiling, and her eyes were fixed.  “I think, you know, Mother,” she said, “that we might do worse than ask Sir Eustace and his party to stay here for the event.”

“My dear Rose!” Lady Grace gazed at her in amazement.

Rose continued to stare into space.  “It would be much more convenient for them,” she said.  “And really we have no reason for allowing people to imagine that we are other than pleased over the arrangement.  We shall not be going to town before Easter, so it seems to me that it would be only neighbourly to invite Sir Eustace to stay at the Court for the wedding.  Great Mallowes is not a particularly nice place to put up in, and this would be far handier for him.”

Lady Grace slowly veiled her astonishment.  “Of course, dear; if you think so, it might be managed.  We will talk to your father about it, and if he approves I will write to Sir Eustace—­or get him to do so.  I do not myself consider that Sir Eustace has behaved at all nicely.  He was most cavalier about the Hunt Ball.  But if you wish to overlook it—­well, I shall not put any difficulty in the way.”

“I think it would be a good thing to do,” said Rose somewhat enigmatically.

The letter that reached Sir Eustace two days later was penned by the Colonel’s hand, and contained a brief but cordial invitation to him and his following to stay at Perrythorpe Court for the wedding.

He read it with a careless smile and tossed it over to Scott.  “Here is magnanimity,” he commented.  “Shall we accept the coals of fire?”

Scott read with all gravity and laid it down.  “If you want my opinion, I should say ‘No,’” he said.

“Why would you say No?” There was a lazy challenge in the question, a provocative gleam in Sir Eustace’s blue eyes.

Scott smiled a little.  “For one thing I shouldn’t enjoy the coals of fire.  For another, I shouldn’t care to be at too close quarters with the beautiful Miss de Vigne again, if I had your very highly susceptible temperament.  And for a third, I believe Isabel would prefer to stay at Great Mallowes.”

“You’re mighty clever, my son, aren’t you?” said Eustace with a supercilious twist of the lips.  “But—­as it chances—­not one of those excellent reasons appeals to me.”

“Very well then,” said Scott, with the utmost patience.  “It is up to you to accept.”

“Why should Isabel prefer Great Mallowes?” demanded Sir Eustace.  “She knows the de Vignes.  It is far better for her to see people, and there is more comfort in a private house than in a hotel.”

“Quite so,” said Scott.  “I am sure she will fall in with your wishes in this respect, whatever they are.  Will you write to Colonel de Vigne, or shall I?”

“You can—­and accept,” returned Sir Eustace imperially.

Scott took a sheet of paper without further words.

His brother leaned back in his chair, his black brows slightly drawn, and contemplated him as he did it.