"You are glad to return, Sylvia?"
"Glad! It is no word for it. I am hungry for the velvety wind that blows across the mountains. I am so tired of these glaring streets, of parties, and dinners and luncheons, and functions of all kinds."
Lord Glengall laughed.
"To tell you the truth, I am amazed and amused to find your father in the midst of it all."
Half-resisting, Pamela was pulled by force.
"Papa! Oh, papa is the veriest Piccadilly lounger. He has returned to it all as freshly as if he had never left it. He discovered troops of old friends—without a misgiving—as soon as ever he came in for the title."
"He doesn't pine for Carrickmoyle?"
"Now and again. When the desire becomes very strong, he and I slip away to Euston some evening, forgetting all our engagements, and, for a few days, our new circumstances, at Carrickmoyle, where Bridget cooks our chops and makes us potato-cakes just as of old."