“Oh!  I never remember these fellows’ names.  I take it for granted you are right.  You always are, my dear.  But let us return to prose.  Are you going to Lady Severn’s to-night to dinner?”

“Of course I am, and so are you.  You know the famous prima donna, Mademoiselle Laurentia is staying at the Castle, and we shall hear her sing.”

“Who is she?  Another of old Lady Severn’s protegees, I suppose.  All her swans turn out geese.  I only hope this one will not be a worse failure than usual.”

“You at least, Noel, ought to be interested in Mademoiselle Laurentia, for she comes from your part of the world—­from the backwoods of Canada.”

“Really?” he questioned, with some show of interest at last.

“Yes; and Elsie Severn began to tell me some romantic story about her which I can’t remember, for, just as she was at the most exciting part, Jones came in and related the account of the arrears in the Mackays’ rent, and that put all Elsie’s story out of my head.”

“Yes, my dear, you have a faculty of remembering all the disagreeable things and forgetting all the pleasant ones.  This adds much to your worth as a charming companion.  I, who am honored with so much of your society, fully appreciate this quality.”

Fortunately Lady Margaret did not hear this tender speech, for she was again deep in the recalcitrant Jones’ accounts.

Let us glance for a moment at Noel McAllister, and see how years and prosperity have agreed with him.  Lazily smoking in a comfortable arm-chair, this man is very different from the tall and slender youth we saw last on the pier at Rimouski.

He certainly had improved in appearance, and was a tall, fine-looking man of about five-and-thirty.  He wore a light-colored tweed shooting suit, which contrasted well with his dark hair and bronzed complexion.  A remarkably handsome man was The McAllister of Dunmorton, but to a close observer there was something lacking in his face—­the old weakness about the mouth and chin, which time, instead of eradicating, had only served to develop.  The hard school of adversity would have been a wholesome experience for Noel McAllister.

His life was not a busy one by any means:  in fact, he spent most of his time in hunting or shooting, taking little interest in his tenants.  After much persuasion from Lady Margaret, he had been induced to run for the county, and was returned unopposed, owing to the energetic canvassing of his wife, and the fact that most of the electors were his own tenants.

Poor Lady Margaret! she, indeed, had her trials.  A woman of unbounded energy and ambition, she wished above all things that her husband should make his mark in the world.  Vain hope!—­a silent member in the House of Commons he was, and a silent member he would remain.

When he first arrived from Canada, ten years ago, his cousin anticipated great things from him.  She saw his strong points as well as his weaknesses, and, being by some years his senior, hoped to mould him to her will.  Alas! it was like beating against a stone wall—­a wall of indifference and apathy.