Early on the next morning he saw his friend and made some sort of laughing apology for his heat on the previous evening.  “It is so d—­ hard when these kind of things are said because a man has lent a young lady a horse.  However, Tom, between you and me the thing is a lie.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” said Tom.

“And now I want you to come over to Rufford on the twenty-eighth.”  Then he explained the details of his proposed party, and got his friend to promise that he would come.  He also made it understood that he was going home at once.  There were a hundred things, he said, which made it necessary.  So the horses and grooms and servant and portmanteaus were again made to move, and Lord Rufford left his friend on that day and went up to London on his road to Rufford.

He was certainly disturbed in his mind, foreseeing that there might be much difficulty in his way.  He remembered with fair accuracy all that had occurred during the journey from Stamford to Mistletoe.  He felt assured that up to that time he had said nothing which could be taken to mean a real declaration of love.  All that at Rufford had been nothing.  He had never said a word which could justify the girl in a hope.  In the carriage she had asked him whether he loved her, and he had said that he did.  He had also declared that he would do anything in his power to make her happy.  Was a man to be bound to marry a girl because of such a scene as that?  There was, however, nothing for him to do except to keep out of the girl’s way.  If she took any steps, then he must act.  But as he thought of it, he swore to himself that nothing should induce him to marry her.

He remained a couple of days in town and reached Rufford Hall on the Monday, just a week from the day of that fatal meet at Peltry.  There he found Sir George and his sister and Miss Penge, and spent his first evening in quiet.  On the Tuesday he hunted with the U.R.U., and made his arrangements with Runciman.  He invited Hampton to shoot with him.  Surbiton and Battersby were coming, and his brother-in-law.  Not wishing to have less than six guns he asked Hampton how he could make up his party.  “Morton doesn’t shoot,” he said, “and is as stiff as a post.”  Then he was told that John Morton was supposed to be very ill at Bragton.  “I’m sick of both the Botseys,” continued the lord, thinking more of his party than of Mr. Morton’s health.  “Purefoy is still sulky with me because he killed poor old Caneback.”  Then Hampton suggested that if he would ask Lawrence Twentyman it might be the means of saving that unfortunate young man’s life.  The story of his unrequited love was known to every one at Dillsborough and it was now told to Lord Rufford.  “He is not half a bad fellow,” said Hampton, “and quite as much like a gentleman as either of the Botseys.”

“I shall be delighted to save the life of so good a man on such easy terms,” said the lord.  Then and there, with a pencil, on the back of an old letter, he wrote a line to Larry asking him to shoot on next Saturday and to dine with him afterwards at the Bush.