"Misfortunes never come single," remarks Cyril; "ours seem to crowd. First a ward, and then a widow, and all in the same week."
"Not only the same week, but the same day," exclaims Lady Chetwoode, looking at her letter; whereupon they all laugh, though they scarcely know why.
"What! Is she too coming on Saturday?" asks Guy. "How ill-timed! I am bound to go to the Bellairs, on that day, whether I like it or not, to dine, and sleep and spend my time generally. The old boy has some young dogs of which he is immensely proud, and has been tormenting me for a month past to go and see them. So yesterday he seized upon me again, and I didn't quite like to refuse, he seemed so bent on getting my opinion of the pups."
"Why not go early, and be back in time for dinner?"
"Can't, unfortunately. There is to be a dinner there in the evening for some cousin who is coming to pay them a visit; and I promised Harry, who doesn't shine in conversation, to stay and make myself agreeable to her. It's a bore rather, as I fear it will look slightly heathenish my not being at the station to meet Miss Chesney."
"Don't put yourself out about that: I'll do all I can to make up for your loss," says Cyril, who is eminently good-natured. "I'll meet her if you wish it, and bring her home."
"Thanks, old man: you're awfully good. It would look inhospitable neither of us being on the spot to bid her welcome. Take the carriage and——"
"Oh, by Jove, I didn't bargain for the carriage. To be smothered alive in July is not a fascinating idea. Don't you think, mother,"—in an insinuating voice,—"Miss Chesney would prefer the dogcart or the——"
"My dear Cyril! Of course you must meet her in the carriage," says his mother, in the shocked tone that usually ends all disputes.