Martin seemed to force his rigid mouth to smile. 'No. Well—mighty good of you to take it so! Of course I know it was not your fault. Good-night!'
He went quickly away, and for a full minute there was silence in the library. The Earl snuffed a guttering candle, and said: 'Do you mean to return to Stanyon when you have done all your business at Evesleigh, Theo, or do you go on immediately to Studham?'
'I believe I may postpone my journey,' Theo said slowly.
'Indeed! May I know why?'
Theo looked frowningly at him. 'It might be best if I were to remain at Stanyon—for the present.'
'Oh, are you at that again? I have told you already that I don't need a watch-dog, my dear fellow!'
'And still I should prefer to remain!'
'Why? when you have heard Martin make me an apology?'
Theo met the deep blue eyes full. 'In all the years I have known Martin,' he said deliberately, 'I have never heard him utter an apology, or even acknowledge a fault!'
'My regenerating influence!' said Gervase flippantly.
'I should be happy to think so.'
'But you don't?'
'No,' Theo said. 'I don't!'
'Nevertheless, Theo, you will oblige me by going to Evesleigh tomorrow, as you have planned to do.'
'Very well. But I wish this business of Ulverston's had not been disclosed!' Theo said.
The breakfast-party on the following morning was attended, inevitably, by a certain measure of constraint. It was the first time Martin and the Viscount had met since their encounter at Whissenhurst, and even Mr. Clowne seemed to be conscious of the tension. His nervous platitudes filled the gap between the exchange of cool greetings between these two and the entrance of the Earl, who made his appearance in a coat of such exquisite cut that the Viscount exclaimed at it, demanding to be told the name of the tailor who had made it. 'Not Scott!' he said.
'No, Weston,' responded the Earl. 'Martin, what's this I hear of kestrels in the West Wood?'
He could have said nothing that would have made Martin more certainly forget, for the moment, his injuries. The dark eyes lit; Martin replied: 'So Pleasley says! He swears there is a pair, and believes they may be nesting in one of the old magpies' nests. I know the place.'
'Too early in the year, isn't it?' asked the Viscount.
'I have known them to start breeding as early as March,' Martin said. 'It is not usual, I own, but it is very possible.' He turned his head to address his brother. 'I have said I'll ride to Roxmere this morning, to look at some likely young 'uns, but I mean to take a gun out this afternoon, and try for them.'
'It is sad that the kestrel, or as I like to call it, the windhover, should be so destructive,' said Mr. Clowne. 'To see them hovering above, as though suspended, is a pretty sight.'
'I question whether they are so destructive as people suppose,' remarked Theo.
'Good God, if we were to have a pair of them breeding in the West Wood we should not have a pheasant or a partridge chick left!' Martin exclaimed.
'I fancy you would find, if you could observe them closely, that they subsist mostly on field-mice. Had you said
In refuting this heresy, and in recalling to Theo's memory various incidents which seemed to support his own theory, Martin for a little while forgot his care, and talked with an animation which would not have led anyone to suppose that he was suffering all the more severe pangs of unrequited love. He looked as though he had not slept well, but he ate a large breakfast, and only towards the end of it remembered that his affections had been blighted, and that his archenemy sat opposite to him, unconcernedly consuming cold beef. The cloud descended again on to his brow, and he relapsed into silence; but when he rose from the table, and the Earl called after him: 'Keep your eyes open for anything that might suit me at Roxmere!' he paused in the doorway, and replied quite cordially: 'If you wish it, but I don't think Helston has much to show me but young 'uns.'
'I don't mind that. A good three-year-old, Martin, not too short in the back, and well ribbed-up! But you know the style of thing!'
Martin nodded. 'I'll see,' he said.
He did not return to Stanyon until noon, and by that time the Viscount had driven himself over to Whissenhurst. Martin walked into one of the saloons just as his mother, Miss Morville, and Gervase were sitting down to partake of cold chickens and fruit. He brought with him two letters, which had been fetched up from the receiving-office. 'One for you, Drusilla, and one for you, St. Erth. From Louisa,' he added. 'Lay you a pony she wants you to invite them all to Stanyon in June!'
'From Louisa?' said the Dowager. 'Why should Louisa be writing to St. Erth? Depend upon it, you are mistaken! It cannot be from her!'
'Well, it's Louisa's writing, and Grampound franked it,' said Martin, displaying the letter, which was directed in large, sloping characters, and stamped Free.
The sight of Lord Grampound's signature, scrawled across one corner, convinced the Dowager that the letter was indeed from her daughter; and after satisfying herself that Martin had not misread The Right Honourable the Countess for the Right Honourable the Earl, she reluctantly allowed her stepson to assume possession of his property. While he broke the wafer that sealed it, and read its two crossed sheets, she maintained an unbroken flow of comment, surmise, and astonishment. 'I do not understand what Louisa can mean by sending a letter to St. Erth,' she said. 'What can she possibly have to say to him? Why has she not written to me? Are you sure there is not a letter for me, Martin?'
'Of course I am, ma'am!' he said impatiently. 'The rest are for Theo, but he has gone off somewhere with Hayle.'
'It is most extraordinary!' she said, in a displeased tone. 'I should have been very glad to have had a letter from Louisa.'
'My dear ma'am, you might have this one with my goodwill,' said Gervase, perusing the crossed lines through his quizzing-glass. 'In fact, you
The Dowager had no hesitation in taking the sheets from him. 'Louisa's writing is particularly elegant,' she said. 'I do not find it all difficult to read. She would have done better to have directed her letter to me.'
'Does she want to come here?' demanded Martin.
'No, something about double-doors at Kentham, and Pug.'
'That creature!' ejaculated Martin, with a look of disgust. 'What the devil has Pug to do with you?'
'Too much, I fear. Well, ma'am? What is it precisely that Louisa feels I can have not the least objection to doing for her? I fear the worst, and beg you won't keep me in suspense!'
'You will be very happy to render Louisa your assistance,' stated the Dowager, in a voice that did not admit of argument. 'Poor Louisa! But I told her how it would be, for I am sure there was never anyone more disobliging than Mrs. Neath, and now, you see, she will not answer above half the questions Louisa has addressed to her. It is all of a piece! She behaved in a very unhandsome way to Mrs. Warboys about a poultry-woman once, and when I heard Grampound had the intention of hiring Kentham I advised him rather to come to Stanyon, for, depend upon it, I said, you will not like to hire Mrs. Neath's house, for she is a very disagreeable woman. You see what has come of it! Louisa cannot recall whether the two saloons can be thrown into one, or how many beds they are able to make up, and so St. Erth is obliged to drive there to discover how it may be! It is a great deal too bad of Mrs. Neath, and I should not be at all surprised if she has neglected to reply to Louisa's questions on purpose to drag St. Erth into her set! She is a very encroaching woman, and I have never invited her to Stanyon, save on Public Days. If you do not care to put yourself in her way, Gervase, Theo may go in your stead.'
'My dear ma'am, Theo is going in the opposite direction to Kentham!'
'It cannot signify to him, if he goes first to Kentham. However, I daresay she will more readily accede to your requests than to his. He is not at all conciliatory—not that I should wish to conciliate Mrs. Neath, but how shocking it would be if she refused to permit poor little Pug to go to Kentham!'
'Are you going all that way to beg favours for Pug?' demanded Martin scornfully.
'I suppose so. Something tells me it would be the wisest course. I may as well drive over to Kentham this afternoon, for I have nothing else to do—unless I go with you, after these kestrels of yours.'
'Oh—! If you choose! But I daresay I shan't get a sight of them,' Martin replied ungraciously. 'You will be wasting your time, I expect—and I may stay out later than you would like, on the chance of a rabbit or two.'
