Sir Roderick Ayre allowed few things to surprise him, but the fact of any one deliberately starting by the early train was one of the few.  In regard to such conduct, he retained all his youthful capacity for wonder.  Surprise, however, gave way to unrestrained and indecent exultation when he learned that the early party had consisted of Kate and Haddington, and that Eugene himself had escorted them to the station.  Eugene was in too good a temper to be seriously annoyed.

“I know it makes me look an ass,” he said, as they smoked the after-breakfast pipe, “but I suppose that’s all in the day’s work.”

“No doubt.  It is the day’s work,” said Ayre; “but, oh, diplomatic young man, why didn’t you tell us at breakfast that the pope had also gone?”

“Oh, you know that?”

“Of course.  My man Timmins brings me what I may call a way-bill every morning, and against Stafford’s name was placed ‘8.30 train.’”

“Useful man, Timmins,” said Eugene.  “Did he happen to add why he had gone?”

“There are limitations even to Timmins.  He did not.”

“You can guess?”

“Well, I suppose I can,” answered Ayre, with some resentment.

“He’s given it up, apparently.”

“I don’t know.”

“He must have.  Awfully cut up he looked, poor old chap!  I was glad Kate and Haddington didn’t see him.”

“Poor chap!  He takes it hard.  Hallo! here’s the fons et origo mali.”

Morewood joined them.

“I have been,” he said gravely, “rescuing my picture.  That insipid lunatic had wrapped it up in brown paper, and put it among his socks in his portmanteau.  I couldn’t see it anywhere till I routed out the portmanteau.  If it had come to grief I should have entered the Academy.”

“Don’t give way so,” said Ayre; “it’s unmanly.  Control your emotions.”

Eugene rose.

“Where are you going?”

Eugene smiled.

“This,” said Ayre to Morewood, with a wave of his hand, “is an abandoned young man.”

“It is,” said Morewood.  “Bob Territon is going rat-hunting, and proposes we shall also go.  What say you?”

“I say yes,” said Sir Roderick, with alacrity.  “It’s a beastly cruel sport.”

“You have lost,” said Morewood, as they walked away together.

“Wait a bit!” said his companion.  “But, young Eugene!  It’s a pity that young man has no morals.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh! not simpliciter, you know. Secundum quid.”

“Secundum feminam, in fact?”

“Yes; and I brought him up, too.”

“‘By their fruits ye shall know them.’  But here’s Bob and the terriers.”

“Don’t you fellows ever have a sister,” said Bob, as he came up; “Claudia’s just savage because the pope’s gone.  Can’t get her morning absolution, you know.”

“Are absolution and ablution the same word, Morewood?” asked Ayre.