The earl understood him; the old wild life was to come to an end. But he put in a word.
"Is that wise?" he said.
"I think so," said Leycester. "Quite enough money has been spent. Yes, I shall sell."
"Very well," assented the earl, who could not but agree with the remark respecting money. "After all, I imagine one tires of the turf. I always thought it a great bore."
"So it is—so it is," said Lord Charles, cheerfully. "Everything is a bore."
The earl smiled.
"Not everything," he said. "Leycester, you are not touching the wine," he added, graciously.
Leycester filled his glass and drank it, and then, to Charles' surprise, refilled it, not once only, but twice and thrice, as if he had suddenly become thirsty.
Presently the earl, after vainly pushing the decanter to them, rose, and they followed him into the drawing-room.
The countess sat at her tea-table, and beside her was Lenore. She was rather paler than usual, and the beautiful eyes were of a deep violet under the long sweeping lashes. She was exquisitely dressed, but there was not a single jewel about her; a spray of white orchid nestled on her bosom and shone in her golden hair, showing the exquisite delicacy of the fair face and throat. Leycester glanced at her, but took his cup of tea without a word, and Lord Charles made all the conversation, as at the dinner-table.