He was standing back to the fire, and the violent agitation of his coat-tails, beneath which his hands were locked, was to the observant ones sign and symbol of his embarrassment.
"I've been in Scotland for a month," returned Carleigh, coloring deeply and seeking a seat.
Every one felt that it was unpardonable in Waltheof to have said "town" to the man who was the center of its talk.
"Oh, Scotland!" exclaimed the duke, as if the fact that the boy had been there was the very remotest thing from his knowledge. "Very amusing place, Scotland. Lovely place, too, Scotland. We went there on our honeymoon. I say, Doody, that was where we went, wasn't it?"
The duchess looked daggers at her duke. Fancy having a husband so lost to the fitness of things as to mention honeymoons in the presence of one who might have been on his at the moment—but wasn't!
"One goes there for the shooting now," she said, to ease the blow. "You always go there for the shooting."
"Not the last time," denied his grace; "it was the closed season—the last time." Then he took another piece of cake.
The duchess didn't quite know whether mention of the closed season was or was not painfully pertinent. "Scotland's so gray," she said in a confidential aside to Waltheof.
Lady Bellingdown was looking beseechingly here and there, praying for some one to say something. It was Kneedrock who responded.
"I hate Scotland," he growled. "I know a girl up there that—" He broke off, leaving them to think anything, and concluded: "I wish I could keep away from the bally place."