‘My dear Roland, you must do just as you think best, and indeed I have this moment received news that renders it very improbable that we shall be able to extend our trip to Italy this year. Lord Ernest Freemantle has proposed to our dear Mabel. Mr Carnaby-Hicks is delighted, and so am I. I have had hopes of such an occurrence for a long time (for no one could help seeing how Lord Ernest admired our dear girl), but your taking her out in the gondola alone last evening brought matters to a crisis. And indeed, were it not for the issue, I should feel almost disposed to quarrel with you, Roland, for being so careless of her reputation. It might have turned matters just the other way. You are too young and handsome to play such freaks with an unmarried girl.’
‘From what you say, then, I may conclude Miss Moore has accepted Lord Ernest’s offer.’
‘Why, of course! What else should she do? And as he is anxious the marriage should take place as soon as possible, I suppose we shall have to go home again.’
‘Then, will you convey my warmest congratulations to the bride-elect, and tell her that I trust we shall meet again in England?’
‘Won’t you stop and see her yourself?’
‘I think not—thanks! I see there is a midday train to Paris, which I can catch if I lose no time. So I will wish you good-bye at once, Valeria!’
‘Good-bye, my dear Roland! We shall, as you say, soon meet again, and I think you are wise to return, for I am afraid all our fun is over for this season!’
The midday train takes him to Paris, and the next day he finds himself on his road to Glamorganshire. The carriage in which he travels is filled with men, all strangers to him, but who converse freely with one another.
‘Have you seen the new owner of Tresham Court, Conway?’ asks one fellow of his neighbour.
‘What, Sir Roland? Not yet! He is abroad, so I am told, and won’t be home till Christmas!’