The Christian Dynamitard was, people said, the only gentleman who had ever been introduced ta society by Mrs. Lampson.
When Harold found his sister alone, he explained to her that it would be impossible for him to join her party at Abbeylands—Mr. Lampson’s Bracken-shire place—and his sister laughed and said she supposed that he had something better on his hands. He assured her that he had nothing better, only—
“There, there,” said she, “I don’t want you to invent an excuse. You would only have met people whom you know.”
“Of course,” said Harold, “you’re not foolish enough to ask your discoveries down to shoot pheasants. I should like to see some of them in a battue with my best enemies. Yes, I’d hire a window, with pleasure.”
“Didn’t he behave well—the Coming Dramatist?” said she, earnestly. “You cannot say he didn’t behave well—at least for a Coming Person.”
“He behaved—wonderfully,” said Harold. “Good-bye.”
She followed him to the door of the room—nay, outside.
“By the bye,” said she, in a whisper; “do you know anything of a Miss Avon?”
“Miss Avon?” said Harold. “Miss Avon. Why, if she is the daughter of Julius Anthony Avon, the historian, we met her at Castle Innisfail. Why do you ask me, Ella?”
“It is so funny,” said she. “Yesterday Mr. Airey called upon me, and before he left he begged of me to call upon her, and even hinted—he has got infinite tact—that she would make a charming addition to our party at Abbeylands.”