“Yes, I think you have. I must have the refusal of it for Cheriton House. By the way, have you heard anything from my friend Kendal?”
“I am to go to Yorkshire in the autumn to paint Lady Priscilla.”
“Excellent! And remember, if Kendal is to respect you, your price must be not a penny less than five hundred guineas.”
As the party turned away from the lake, a dryad emerged from the wood, breathless and bareheaded. She had three trout in a basket.
“It will be all right,” she announced. “We shall have them for dinner. There are six, one apiece for everybody except Ponto, and Miss Burden thinks trout are not good for him. And I’ve brought three for you, dear Mrs. Lascelles.”
“Then you are a very noble girl,” said Jim’s mother, “and I highly appreciate your act of self-sacrifice.”
By this time Muffin had resumed her shoes and stockings and had risen from the pebbles. Her sister took her by the hand and led her forward with an air of the most admirable simplicity.
“Lord Cheriton,” said she, “this is Muffin.”
“I am already honored,” said my lord, “by an acquaintance which I shall strive to cultivate.”