Dermot was in London too, not staying with uncle or sister, for both of whom he was much too erratic, though he generally presented himself at such times as were fittest for ascertaining our movements for the day, when it generally ended in his attaching himself to some of us, for Harold seemed to have passed an act of oblivion on the doings of that last unhappy meeting, and allowed himself to be taken once or twice with Eustace into Dermot’s own world; but not only was he on his guard there, but he could not be roused to interest even where horseflesh was concerned.  Some one said he was too great a barbarian, and so he was.  His sports and revelries had been on a wilder, ruder, more violent scale, such as made these seem tame.  He did not understand mere trifling for amusement’s sake, still less how money could be thrown away for it and for fashion, when it was so cruelly wanted by real needs; and even Dermot was made uncomfortable by his thorough earnestness.  “It won’t do in ‘the village’ in the nineteenth century,” said he to me.  “It is like—­who was that old fellow it was said of—­a lion stalking about in a sheepfold.”

“Sheep!” said I, indignantly.  “I am afraid some are wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

Dermot shrugged his shoulders and said, “How is one to help oneself if one has been born some two thousand years too late, or not in the new half-baked hemisphere where demigods still walk the earth in their simplicity?”

“I want you not to spoil the demigod when he has walked in among you.”

“I envy him too much to do that,” said Dermot with a sigh.

“I believe you, Dermot, but don’t take him among those who want to do so.”

“That’s your faith in your demigod,” said Dermot, not able to resist a little teasing; but seeing I was really pained, he added:  “No, Lucy, I’ll never take him again to meet Malvoisin and Nessy Horsman.  In the first place, I don’t know how he might treat them; and in the next, I would die sooner than give them another chance, even if he would.  I thought the men would have been struck with him as I was; but no, it is not in them to be struck with anyone.  All they think of is how to make him like themselves.”

“Comus’ crew!” said I.  “Oh!  Dermot, how can you see it and be one of them?”

“I’m not happy enough to be an outer barbarian,” he said, and went his way.

There was a loan exhibition of curious old objects in plate and jewellery, to which Lady Diana took me, and where, among other things, we found a long belt crusted thickly with scales of gold, and with a sort of medal at the clasp.

“Just look here, mamma,” said Viola; “I do believe this is the archery prize.”

And sure enough on the ticket was, “Belt, supposed to be of Peruvian workmanship.  Taken in the Spanish Armada, 1588.  Champion belt at the Northchester Archery Club.  Lent by Miss Hippolyta Horsman.”