“All right--though in my opinion it’s all wrong. Shall you tell Lady Mulgrave and Elgitha?”
“Wait! For what? If this girl is my daughter, I shall bring her back with me.”
“And if it is a wild-goose chase, how foolish you will look!”
“Yes; one has to take risks, and I’m ready to chance that. Now I see all the others anxious to start and I must not detain you. Good-bye, old man”--wringing his hand--“I leave you to explain everything. Wish me luck.”
“I wish you _luck_,” rejoined the other, putting his own construction on the word; and in another minute the two had separated.
Lord Mulgrave, having given directions to his man to immediately pack a portmanteau and order a dog-cart, set out in search of his wife. The quest proved long. She was not in the boudoir, the hall, the drawing-room; she was not even playing bridge or croquet. At last he discovered her in the garden--a most sequestered spot, some distance from the castle. Two ancient fishponds, surrounded by terraces and broad grass walks, were its principal features. On an island in one of the ponds was a pretty clump of trees, in that clump a hammock, in the hammock a smart lady with a novel, a cigarette, and a tiny “sleeve” dog.
“My dear O,” she cried, as he crossed a footbridge, “what brings you back? Not an accident! Has anything happened? Any one blown off anyone’s head?”
“No, not quite; but something has happened. I’ve had a letter.”
“From the duke?”--struggling to sit up. “So he is coming for the pheasants after all?” Her face was radiant.
“No, I’ve not heard from him”--and he put his hand in his pocket and drew out the letter.
Lady Mulgrave’s expression changed, as she said, “I really do think there ought to be a law against all the men going out together. Half should remain to amuse _us_. It is ghastly dull. Tito and Griselda are going to walk with the guns this afternoon, but I hate that sort of thing. Lady Madge and the marchioness, and a whole pack have driven to see a ruin. They couldn’t see a more splendid ruin than Lady Madge herself! Some are playing croquet; some are asleep, and I was nearly off. Oh, you abominable little dog!” suddenly addressing the mite, who had been chewing her book. “Oh, you little horror!”--and she gave it several hard cuffs.