Mrs. Chisholm shook her head at her daughter.
"Miss Clifford complained of your inattention to the study of English last quarter," she reproved severely.
Mabel made no answer, though Vane thought it would have relieved her to grimace.
Presently the meal came to an end, and an hour afterward, Mrs. Chisholm rose from her seat in the lamplit drawing-room.
"We keep early hours at the Dene, but you will retire when you like," she said. "As Tom is away, I had better tell you that you will find syphons and whisky in the smoking-room. I have had the lamp lighted."
"Thank you," Vane replied with a smile. "I'm afraid you have taken more trouble on our account than you need have done. Except on special occasions, we generally confine ourselves to strong green tea."
Mabel looked at him in amazement.
"Oh!" she cried. "The West is certainly decadent! You should be here when the otter hounds are out. Why, it was only—"
She broke off abruptly beneath her mother's withering glance.
When Vane and Carroll were left alone, they strolled out, pipe in hand, upon the terrace. They could see the fells tower darkly against the soft sky, and a tarn that lay in the blackness of the valley beneath them was revealed by its pale gleam. A wonderful mingling of odors stole out of the still summer night.