This is the country seat of Earl Grex,—­which however he had not visited for some years.  Gradually the place had got into such a condition in his absence was not surprising.  An owner of Grex, with large means at his disposal and with a taste for the picturesque to gratify,—­one who could afford to pay for memories and who was willing to pay dearly for such luxuries, might no doubt restore Grex, but the Earl had neither the money nor the taste.

Lord Grex had latterly never gone near the place, nor was his son Lord Percival fond of looking upon the ruin of his property.  But Lady Mabel loved it with a fond love.  With all her lightness of spirit she was prone to memories, prone to melancholy, prone at times almost to seek the gratification of sorrow.  Year after year when the London season was over she would come down to Grex and spend a week or two amidst its desolation.  She was now going to a seat in Scotland belonging to Mrs Montacute Jones called Killancodlem; but she was now passing a desolate fortnight in company with Miss Cassewary.  The gardens were let,—­and being let of course were not kept in further order than as profit might require.  The man who rented it lived in the big house with his wife, and they on occasions as this would cook and wait upon Lady Mabel.

Lady Mabel was at the home of her ancestors, and the faithful Miss Cass was with her.  But at the moment and at the spot at which the reader shall see her, Miss Cass was not with her.  She was sitting on a rock about twelve feet above the lake looking upon the black water; and on another rock a few feet from her sat Frank Tregear.  ‘No,’ she said, ’you should not have come.  Nothing can justify it.  Of course, as you are here I could not refuse to come out with you.  To make a fuss about it would be the worst of all.  But you should not have come.’

’Why not?  Whom does it hurt?  It is a pleasure to me.  If it be the reverse to you, I will go.’

’Men are so unmanly.  They take such mean advantages.  You know it is a pleasure to me to see you.’

‘I had hoped so.’

‘But it is a pleasure I ought not to have,—­at least not here.’

‘That is what I do not understand,’ said he.  ’In London, where the Earl could bark at me if he happened to find me, I could see the inconvenience of it.  But here, where there is nobody but Miss Cass—­’

’There are a great many others.  There are the rooks and stones and old women;—–­all of which have ears.’

’But of what is there to be ashamed?  There is nothing in the world to me so pleasant as the companionship of old friends.’

‘Then go after Silverbridge.’

‘I mean to do so;—­but I am taking you by the way.’

‘It is all unmanly,’ she said, rising from her stone; ’you know that it is so.  Friends!  Do you mean to say that it would make no difference whether you were here with me or Miss Cass?’

‘The greatest difference in the world.’