Humphrey walked into the morning-room with a cool air, as if he had come from another room in the house instead of from London. He was the only one of all the Clintons who was dark. He was not so good-looking as Dick, but he was well set up, and his clothes were always the perfect expression of the requirements of the moment. So were Dick's, but Dick wore old clothes sometimes, Humphrey never. He was a young man of the highest fashion, whenever and wherever he appeared.
The Squire was standing in front of the fire, as his habit was, Mrs. Clinton sitting behind her tea-table and Mrs. Graham near her. The twins were on the sofa on either side of Cicely. Humphrey kissed his mother, shook hands with his father and Mrs. Graham, and sat down by his sisters. "The frost is going to break," he said.
"Is it?" said the Squire. "Well, that's the best news you could have brought. Look here, we were talking of Lady George Dubec. Do you know anything about her?"
"Virginia Dubec?" said Humphrey. "She is a very beautiful lady."
"Well, but who is she? Who was she? An American they say. Is she all right?"
"She was an actress. Musical comedy, or something of the sort. But that was some years ago. Old George Dubec married her in New York, and led her an awful life. She used to hunt with the Quorn. Went like a bird, and didn't care how she went or where she went. People used to say she wanted to break her neck and get away from George Dubec. But Dick knows her better than I do. He'll tell you all about her."
Mrs. Clinton looked up from the teacups, Mrs. Graham arched her brows and her mouth twitched, the twins caught the sense of surprise and gazed open-eyed at their father.
"Dick knows her!" exclaimed the Squire. "Then why on earth——! Does he know she has settled down here?"
"Has she settled down here?" asked Humphrey. "Where has she settled, and what for?"
"Taken old Marsh's rectory at Blaythorn," said Mrs. Graham. "Going to hunt with the South Meadshire."