Hubert, at home for the holidays, was again at table.  He was fourteen now, tall of his age and slender, his blue eyes bright, his complexion delicately beautiful.  The pleated cambric frill of his shirt, which hung over the collar of his Eton jacket after the fashion of the day, was carried low in front, displaying the small white throat; his golden hair curled naturally.  A boy to admire and be proud of.  The manners were more decorous this year than they ever had been, and Hubert was allowed to sit on.  Possibly the shadow of George West’s unhappy death lay insensibly upon the party.

It was about half-past nine o’clock when the butler came into the room, bringing a small note, twisted up, to his master from Mrs. Carradyne.  Captain Monk opened it and held it towards one of the lighted branches to read the few words it contained.

     “A gentleman is asking to speak a word to Mr. Dancox.  He says it
     is important.”

Captain Monk tore the paper to bits. “Not to-night, tell your mistress, is my answer,” said he to Rimmer.  “Hubert, you can go to your aunt now; it’s past your bed-time.”

There could be no appeal, as the boy knew; but he went off unwillingly and in bitter resentment against Mrs. Carradyne.  He supposed she had sent for him.

“What a cross old thing you are, Aunt Emma!” he exclaimed as he entered the drawing-room on the other side the hall.  “You won’t let Harry go in at all to the banquets, and you won’t let me stay at them!  Papa meant—­I think he meant—­to let me remain there to hear the chimes.  Why need you have interfered to send for me?”

“I neither interfered with you, Hubert, nor sent for you.  A gentleman, who did not give his name and preferred to wait outside, wants to see Mr. Dancox; that’s all,” said Mrs. Carradyne.  “You gave my note to your master, Rimmer?”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the butler.  “My master bade me say to you that his answer was not to-night.”

Katherine Monk, her face betraying some agitation, rose from the piano.  “Was the message not given to Mr. Dancox?” she asked of Rimmer.

“Not while I was there, Miss Katherine.  The master tore the note into bits, after reading it; and dropped them under the table.”

Now it chanced that Mr. Dancox, glancing covertly at the note while the Captain held it to the light, had read what was written there.  For a few minutes he said nothing.  The Captain was busy sending round the wine.

“Captain Monk—­pardon me—­I saw my name on that bit of paper; it caught my eye as you held it out,” he said in a low tone.  “Am I called out?  Is anyone in the parish dying?”

Thus questioned, Captain Monk told the truth.  No one was dying, and he was not called out to the parish.  Some gentleman was asking to speak to him; only that.

“Well, I’ll just see who it is, and what he wants,” said Mr. Dancox, rising.  “Won’t be away two minutes, sir.”