The sun was within an hour of setting when Brian appeared at the Castle bearing a letter for Lady Innisfail. It had been entrusted to him for delivery to her ladyship by Mr. Wynne, he said. Where was Mr. Wynne? That Brian would not take upon him to say; only he was at the opposite side of the lough. Maybe he was with Father Conn, who was the best of good company, or it wasn’t a bit unlikely that it was the District Inspector of the Constabulary he was with. Anyhow it was sure that the gentleman had took a great fancy to the queer places along the coast, for hadn’t he been to the thrubble to give a look in at the Banshee’s Cave, the previous night, just because he was sthruck with admiration of the story of the Princess that he, Brian, had told him and Mr. Airey in the boat?
The letter that Lady Innisfail received and glanced at while drinking tea on one of the garden seats outside the Castle, begged her ladyship to pardon the writer’s not appearing at dinner that night, the fact being that he had unexpectedly found an old friend who had taken possession of him.
“It was very nice of him to write, wasn’t it, my dear?” Lady Innisfail remarked to her friend Miss Craven, who was filtering a novel by a popular French author for the benefit of Lady Innisfail. “It was very nice of him to write. Of course that about the friend is rubbish. The charm of this neighbourhood is that no old friend ever turns up.”
“You don’t think that—that—perhaps—” suggested Miss Craven with the infinite delicacy of one who has been employed in the filtration of Paul Bourget.
“Not at all—not at all,” said Lady Innisfail, shaking her head. “If it was his father it would be quite another matter.”
“Oh!”
“Lord Fotheringay is too great a responsibility even for me, and I don’t as a rule shirk such things,” said Lady Innisfail. “But Harold is—well, I’ll let you into a secret, though it is against myself: he has never made love even to me.”
“That is inexcusable,” remarked Miss Craven, with a little movement of the eyebrows. She did not altogether appreciate Lady Innisfail’s systems. She had not a sufficient knowledge of dynamics and the transference of energy to be able to understand the beauty of the “switch” principle. “But if he is not with a friend—or—or—the other—”
“The enemy—our enemy?”
“Where can he be—where can he have been?”