“Brutes!” said Glomax.  “They once tried a pack of hounds somewhere in one of the States, but they never could run a yard.”

There was a good deal of wine drank, which was not unusual at Lord Rufford’s dinners.  Most of the company were seasoned vessels, and none of them were much the worse for what they drank.  But the generous wine got to Larry’s heart, and perhaps made his brain a little soft.  Lord Rufford remembering what had been said about the young man’s misery tried to console him by attention; and as the evening wore on, and when the second cigars had been lit all round, the two were seated together in confidential conversation at a corner of the table:  “Yes, my lord; I think I shall hook it,” said Larry.  “Something has occurred that has made the place not quite so comfortable to me; and as it is all my own I think I shall sell it.”

“We should miss you immensely in the hunt,” said Lord Rufford, who of course knew what the something was.

“It’s very kind of you to say so, my lord.  But there are things which may make a man go.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Just a young woman, my lord.  I don’t want it talked about, but I don’t mind mentioning it to you.”

“You should never let those troubles touch you so closely,” said his lordship, whose own withers at this moment were by no means unwrung.

“I dare say not.  But if you feel it, how are you to help it?  I shall do very well when I get away.  Chowton Farm is not the only spot in the world.”

“But a man so fond of hunting as you are!”

“Well;—­yes.  I shall miss the hunting, my lord,—­shan’t I?  If Mr. Morton don’t buy the place I should like it to go to your lordship.  I offered it to him first because it came from them.”

“Quite right.  By-the-bye, I hear that Mr. Morton is very ill.”

“So I heard,” said Larry.  “Nupper has been with him, I know, and I fancy they have sent for somebody from London.  I don’t know that he cares much about the land.  He thinks more of the foreign parts he’s always in.  I don’t believe we should fall out about the price, my lord.”  Then Lord Rufford explained that he would not go into that matter just at present, but that if the place were in the market he would certainly like to buy it.  He, however, did as John Morton had done before, and endeavoured to persuade the poor fellow that he should not alter the whole tenor of his life because a young lady would not look at him.

“Good night, Mr. Runciman,” said Larry as he made his way down-stairs to the yard.  “We’ve had an uncommon pleasant evening.”

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself, Larry.”  Larry thought that his Christian name from the hotel keeper’s lips had never sounded so offensively as on the present occasion.

CHAPTER XXII

Miss Trefoil’s Decision