‘What is the meaning of this?’ asked James, as they went up stairs.

Louis shrugged like a Frenchman, looked debonnaire, and said ’Good-night.’

Again he came down; prepared for shooting, though both pale and lame; but he quietly put aside all expostulations, walking on until, about fifty yards from the house, a pebble, turning under the injured foot, caused such severe pain that he could but just stagger to a tree and sit down.

There was much battling before Mr. Mansell would consent to leave him, or he to allow James to help him back to the house, before going on to overtake the party.

Very irate was Jem, at folly that seemed to have undone the benefits of the last month, and at changeableness that was a desertion of the queen to whom all homage was due.  He was astonished that Louis turned into the study, a room little inhabited in general, and said, ’Make haste—­you will catch the others; don’t fall in with the ladies.’

‘I mean to send your aunt to you.’

’Pray don’t.  Can’t you suppose that peace is grateful after having counted every mortal hour last night?’

’Was that the reason you were going to walk ten miles without a leg to stand upon?  Fitzjocelyn! is this systematic?’

‘What is?’ said Louis, wearily.

‘Your treatment of—­your aunt.’

‘On what system should aunts be treated?’

’Of all moments to choose for caprice!  Exactly when I thought even you were fixed!’

‘Pur troppo,’ sighed Louis.

‘Ha!’ cried Jem, ’you have not gone and precipitated matters!  I thought you could never amaze me again; but even you might have felt she was a being to merit rather more time and respect!’

‘Even I am not devoid of the organ of veneration.’

His meek tone was a further provocation; and with uplifted chin, hair ruffled like the crest of a Shetland pony, flashing eyes, and distinct enunciation, James exclaimed, ’You will excuse me for not understanding you.  You come here; you devote yourself to your aunt and cousins—­you seem strongly attracted; then, all on a sudden, you rush out shooting—­an exercise for which you don’t care, and when you can’t walk:  you show the most pointed neglect.  And after being done-up yesterday, you repeat the experiment to-day, as if for the mere object of laming yourself for life.  I could understand pique or temper, but you have not the—­’

‘The sense,’ said Louis; ‘no, nor anything to be piqued at.’

‘If there be a motive,’ said James, ’I have a right to demand not to be trifled with any longer.’

’I wish you could be content to shoot your birds, and leave me in peace:  you will only have your fun spoilt, like mine, and go into a fury.  The fact is, that my father writes in a state of perturbation.  He says, I might have understood, from the tenor of his conduct, that he did not wish me to be intimate with my aunt’s family!  He cannot know anything about them, for it is all one warning against fashion and frivolity.  He does not blame us—­especially not you.’