“One word, Lady Lundie—­”

“No!” repeated her ladyship, with the most pathetic gentleness.  “You are right, I dare say, from the worldly point of view.  I can’t take the worldly point of view.  The worldly point of view hurts me.”  She turned, with impressive gravity, to the page.  “You know where you will go, Jonathan, if you tell lies!”

Jonathan was lazy, Jonathan was pimply, Jonathan was fat—­but Jonathan was orthodox.  He answered that he did know; and, what is more, he mentioned the place.

Sir Patrick saw that further opposition on his part, at that moment, would be worse than useless.  He wisely determined to wait, before he interfered again, until Lady Lundie had thoroughly exhausted herself and her inquiries.  At the same time—­as it was impossible, in the present state of her ladyship’s temper, to provide against what might happen if the inquiries after Anne unluckily proved successful—­he decided on taking measures to clear the house of the guests (in the interests of all parties) for the next four-and-twenty hours.

“I only want to ask you a question, Lady Lundie,” he resumed.  “The position of the gentlemen who are staying here is not a very pleasant one while all this is going on.  If you had been content to let the matter pass without notice, we should have done very well.  As things are, don’t you think it will be more convenient to every body if I relieve you of the responsibility of entertaining your guests?”

“As head of the family?” stipulated Lady Lundie.

“As head of the family!” answered Sir Patrick.

“I gratefully accept the proposal,” said Lady Lundie.

“I beg you won’t mention it,” rejoined Sir Patrick.

He quitted the room, leaving Jonathan under examination.  He and his brother (the late Sir Thomas) had chosen widely different paths in life, and had seen but little of each other since the time when they had been boys.  Sir Patrick’s recollections (on leaving Lady Lundie) appeared to have taken him back to that time, and to have inspired him with a certain tenderness for his brother’s memory.  He shook his head, and sighed a sad little sigh.  “Poor Tom!” he said to himself, softly, after he had shut the door on his brother’s widow.  “Poor Tom!”

On crossing the hall, he stopped the first servant he met, to inquire after Blanche.  Miss Blanche was quiet, up stairs, closeted with her maid in her own room.  “Quiet?” thought Sir Patrick.  “That’s a bad sign.  I shall hear more of my niece.”

Pending that event, the next thing to do was to find the guests.  Unerring instinct led Sir Patrick to the billiard-room.  There he found them, in solemn conclave assembled, wondering what they had better do.  Sir Patrick put them all at their ease in two minutes.

“What do you say to a day’s shooting to-morrow?” he asked.

Every man present—­sportsman or not—­said yes.