’That celebrated Mr David Jones, Mr Prothero, whose locker was so deep that I am sure he must have been a relation of the admiral,’ suggested Miss Gwynne.

‘Truly so, my dear—­but I have read—­’

‘I am afraid I must trouble you to order my carriage, Mr Gwynne,’ said Lady Mary, looking impatiently, first at the chess-table, secondly at her daughter, who was engaged in animated nonsense with Mr Rice Rice, junior; and thirdly at Sir Hugh, still occupied in making Netta blush.

‘I beg your pardon; one moment, Lady Mary; I must just castle my king.’

‘Perhaps you had better put an end to the game, papa,’ said Miss Gwynne.

‘Not for the world, my dear.  What do you say, Mr Rowland?’

’I should certainly like to finish it, but perhaps we are inconveniencing others.’

’Ah, yes, to be sure.  Then will you come and dine with me to-morrow, and we will finish it?’

‘Thank you, I shall be very happy,’

Mr Rice Rice, junior, and Sir Hugh wished that they were good chess players.  It was quite an honour to be invited to a family party at Glanyravon.

‘Put the chess-table into the book-room, Winifred, and lock the door.’

Mr Gwynne actually rose in the excitement of the moment.

’If the servants come they will disturb the men, and—­and—­all that sort of thing, you know.’

Miss Gwynne and Rowland carried the chess-table into a small room, opening into the drawing-room, and duly locked the door after them.

‘I suppose you are fond of chess,’ said Miss Gwynne for want of something to say.

‘Very,’ said Rowland laconically, and she little knew what was passing in his mind.

Always the same thoughts when in her presence—­thoughts of mingled approbation and dislike.  But she cared little what he thought of her.

‘Dry and pedantic, and very disagreeable,’ was what she thought of him.

‘Your nephew is rather a sinking-looking young man,’ were Lady Mary’s words to Mrs Prothero, during his temporary absence.

’Yes, he is very clever and gentlemanlike.  He gained high honours at Oxford, and my cousin.  Sir Philip Payne Perry, is going to procure him a London curacy,’

Lady Mary looked still more favourably upon Rowland when he returned, with a flush on his face, from the book-room.

‘Do you know that young Prothero is a very handsome young man?’ she said to Miss Gwynne.

‘Very handsome,’ said Miss Gwynne, remembering her intentions for Wilhelmina.  And the carriages were announced.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MISER’S SON.