They were walking on a majestic terrace in the shadow of the red-brick house, their figures mirrored in each mullioned window as they passed it.
"I call Lord Manister the luckiest young man in England," Ruth exclaimed during a pause between the other two. "To think that all this will be his!"
"It rather reminds me of Hampton Court on this side," remarked Tiny indifferently.
"And it's by no means their only place, you know; there are others they never use, are there not, Erskine?—to say nothing of all those squares and streets in town!"
But Erskine sounded the thick sibilant of silence as they passed a shabby looking person with a slouching walk and a fair beard.
"I wonder how he got here?" Tiny murmured next moment.
"He has a better right than most of us."
"What do you mean, Erskine?"
"Well, it's the earl."
"Earl Dromard? I should have guessed his gardener!"