“She wants to read me a tirade, I suppose, about her pet, Lady Louise,” he said to himself.  “They would badger me into marrying her if they could.  I never cared two straws for the daughter of Earl Carteret; she is frightfully passee, and she’s three years older than I am.  I am glad I did not commit myself to please my mother.”

Sir Everard reached Hunsden Hall in time for luncheon.  The old place looked deserted and ruined.  The half-pay Indian officer’s poverty was visible everywhere—­in the time-worn furniture, the neglected grounds, the empty stables, and the meager staff of old-time servants.

“Captain Hunsden is so poor that he will be glad to marry his daughter to the first rich man who asks her.  The Hunsden estate is strictly entailed to the next male heir; he has only his pay, and she will be left literally a beggar at his death.”

His eyes flashed triumphantly at the thought.  Harrie Hunsden stood in the sunshine on the lawn, with half a score of dogs, big and little, bouncing around her, more lovely, it seemed to the infatuated young baronet, in her simple home-dress, than ever.  No trace of yesterday’s fatiguing hunt, or last night’s fatiguing dancing, was visible in that radiant face.

But just at that instant Captain Hunsden advanced to meet him, with Lord Ernest Strathmore by his side.

“What brings that idiot here?” Sir Everard thought.  “How absurdly early he must have ridden over!”

He turned to Miss Hunsden and uttered the polite common-place proper for the occasion.

“I told you I never was fatigued,” the young lady said, playing with her dogs, and sublimely at her ease.  “I am ready for a second hunt to-day, and a ball to-night, and a picnic the day after.  I should have been a boy.  It’s perfectly absurd, my being a ridiculous girl, when I feel as if I could lead a forlorn hope, or, like Alexander, conquer a world.  Come to luncheon.”

“Conquer a world—­come to luncheon?  A pretty brace of subjects!” said her father.

“Miss Hunsden is quite capable of conquering a world without having been born anything so horrid as a boy,” said Lord Ernest.  “There are bloodless conquests, wherein the conquerors of the world are conquered themselves.”

The baronet scowled.  Miss Hunsden retorted saucily.  She and Lord Ernest kept up a brilliant wordy war.

He sat like a silent fool—­like an imbecile, he said to himself, glowering malignantly.  He was madly in love, and he was furiously jealous.  What business had this ginger-whiskered young lordling interloping here?  And how disgustingly self-assured and at home he was!  He tried to talk to the captain, but it was a miserable failure.

It was a relief when a servant entered with the mailbag.

“The mail reaches us late,” Captain Hunsden said, as he opened it.  “I like my letters with my breakfast.”

“Any for me, papa?” Harriet asked.