"My place" was Vernon Grange, a noble Elizabethan mansion, standing right in the center of one of the finest shooting districts. The grange was at present shut up, the birds running wild, the keepers in despair, all because Lord Leycester could not forget Stella, and his friend would not desert him!
"Suppose we start to-morrow morning," went on Lord Charles, struggling into his light over-coat and yawning. "We can take some fellows down!—plenty of birds, you know. Had a letter from the head keeper yesterday; fellow quite broken-hearted, give you my word! Come on, Ley! I'm sick of this, I am, indeed. I hate the place," and he glanced sleepily at the dimly lit hall of the Rookery. "What's the use of playing ecarte and baccarat night after night; it doesn't amuse you even if you win!"
Leycester was striding on, scarcely appearing to hear, but the word "amuse" roused him.
"Nothing 'amuses,' Charles," he said, quietly. "Nothing. Everything is a bore. The only thing is to forget, and the cards help me to do that, for a little while, at least—a little while."
Lord Charles nearly groaned.
"They'll make you forget you've anything to lose shortly," he said. "We've been going it like the very deuce, lately, Ley!"
Leycester stopped and looked at him, wearily, absently.
"I suppose we have, Charles," he said; "why don't you cut it? I don't mind it; it is a matter of indifference to me. But you! you can cut it. You shall go down to-morrow morning, and I'll stay."
"Thanks," said the constant friend. "I'm in the same boat, Ley, and I'll pull while you do. When you are tired of this foolery, we'll come to shore and be sensible human beings again. I shan't leave the boat till you do."
"You'll wait till it goes down?"