Introductions were carelessly made; he seated himself on a camp-stool by one of the young ladies, and dropped a few insignificant remarks. No one paid much attention to him.
"Seventy-five runs!" exclaimed Mrs. Woolstan, addressing herself as though with keen interest to the son of the family, a high-coloured, large-limbed young man of about Lashmar's age. "That was splendid! But you did better still against East Croydon, didn't you?"
"Made my century, there," answered Mr. Barker, jerking out a leg in self-satisfaction.
"How conceited you're making him, Mrs. Woolstan!" cried one of his sisters, with a shrill laugh. "It's a rule in this house to put the stopper on Jim when he begins to talk about cricket. If we didn't, there'd be no living with him."
"Are you a cricketer, Mr.—Mr. Lasher?" asked materfamilias, eyeing the visitor curiously.
"It's a long time since I played," was the reply, uttered with scarcely veiled contempt.
Mrs. Woolstan talked on in the highest spirits, exhibiting her intimacy with the Barker household, and her sympathy with their concerns. Lashmar waited for her to question him about Hollingford, to give him an opportunity of revealing his importance; but her thoughts seemed never to turn in that direction. As soon as a movement in the company enabled him to rise, he stepped up to her, and said in a voice audible to those standing by:
"I want to speak to you about Leonard. Shall you be at home this evening?"
Iris gave him a startled look.
"You haven't bad news of Len?"