‘No,’ said Reginald, ‘I never heard of any one that could.’

’Then I advise you to learn the art; in the meantime I will call you to-morrow.’

Loud voices and laughter in the hall, and the front door creaking on its hinges at sunrise, convinced the household that this was no vain boast; before breakfast was quite over the fishermen were seen approaching the house.  Lord Rotherwood was an extraordinary figure, in an old shooting jacket of his uncle’s, an enormous pair of fishing-boots of William’s, and the broad-brimmed straw hat, which always hung up in the hall, and was not claimed by any particular owner.

Maurice displayed to Jane the contents of two phials, strange little creatures, with stranger names, of which he was as proud as Reginald of his three fine trout.  Lord Rotherwood did not appear till he had made himself look like other people, which he did in a surprisingly short time.  He began estimating the weight of the fish, and talking at his most rapid rate, till at last Claude said, ’Phyllis told us just now that you were coming back, for that she heard Cousin Rotherwood talking, and it proved to be Jane’s old turkey cock gobbling.’

‘No bad compliment,’ said Emily, ’for Phyllis was once known to say, on hearing a turkey cock, “How melodiously that nightingale sings."’

‘No, no! that was Ada,’ said Lilias.

‘I could answer for that,’ said Claude.  ’Phyllis is too familiar with both parties to mistake their notes.  Besides, she never was known to use such a word as melodiously.’

‘Do you remember,’ said the Marquis, ’that there was some great lawyer who had three kinds of handwriting, one that the public could read, one that only his clerk could read, and one that nobody could read?’

‘I suppose I am the clerk,’ said Claude, ’unless I divide the honour with Florence.’

‘I do not think I am unintelligible anywhere but here,’ said Lord Rotherwood.  ’There is nothing sufficiently exciting at home, if Grosvenor Square is to be called home.’

‘Sometimes you do it without knowing it,’ said Lily.

‘Yes,’ said Claude, ’when you do not exactly know what you are going to say.’

‘Then it is no bad plan,’ said Lord Rotherwood.  ’People are satisfied, and you don’t commit yourself.’

‘I’ll tell you what, Cousin Rotherwood,’ exclaimed Phyllis, ’your hand is bleeding.’

’Is it?  Thank you, Phyllis, I thought I had washed it off:  now do find me some sealing-wax—­India-rub her—­sticking-plaster, I mean.’

‘Oh!  Rotherwood,’ said Emily, ‘what a bad cut, how did it happen?’

‘Only, I am the victim to Maurice’s first essay in fishing.’

‘Just fancy what an awkward fellow Maurice is,’ said Reginald, ’he had but one throw, and he managed to stick the hook into Rotherwood’s hand.’

‘One of those barbed hooks?  Oh!  Rotherwood, how horrid!’ said Emily.