"Ruby is one in a thousand," Rupert said quietly. "Look here, I'm off to Devonshire to-morrow evening. I don't want the old man to hear I've been plucked. I must tell him myself. I shall have to find some reason, too, for my sudden wealth."
"One of the old-fashioned sort, eh?—don't approve of betting or pretty girls. Will you keep Miss Strode dark, too?"
Rupert frowned. He did not reply at once. "I thought you knew we were engaged to be married," he said at last. "I shan't tell the guv'nor until I've passed my final, so if you come down you needn't mention her."
Rupert suddenly found himself regretting the invitation he had given to Despard some time ago to spend his holidays at Blackthorn Farm. Too late, instinct warned him that he was not quite the sort of man he would like to introduce to his sister.
"So you're really coming?" he said.
"Rather! I want to throw a fly for those trout you've spoken about, and pot the rabbits. I'm a bit fed-up with town. If it's quite convenient I'll meet you at Paddington Station to-morrow afternoon."
Rupert nodded. "The train leaves at eight-thirty. I must wire in the morning and tell the guv'nor we're coming. I expect Marjorie will meet us at Moreton with the trap."
"How old is she?" Despard asked.
Rupert did not reply, and the cab drew up outside the Savoy.
Dawn was beginning to break over the City before he returned to his rooms. He switched on the electric lights. Curiously enough, he felt wide-awake and not in the least tired. Yet the day had been a long and eventful one, every hour filled with excitement.