First came the partridge-shooting, and then the pheasants were to be knocked over, while the ladies drove almost daily to the preserves with the luncheon in the drag or large pony-carriage; there were hunting days, dinners, luncheons, musical evenings, carpet dances, and so forth, and the inevitable lawn-tennis, with the ladies in bewitching costumes; but still Allan, damped perhaps by his sister's communications, 'made no way' with his tantalising cousin, and Hawke Holcroft, on Lord Aberfeldie's invitation, was still lingering at Dundargue.
To Allan, Olive had become a part of his life, and each day seemed only to begin when he met her at breakfast in her charming morning toilette, fresh from her bath and the hands of Mademoiselle Clairette, her hair dressed to perfection, and her face radiant with health and beauty.
'How often do I wish she had not a sous!' sighed Allan. 'Then she might learn that I love her for herself alone.'
The curious position in which they were placed relatively made the cousins most strange to each other, involving much constraint.
'They are fencing with their feelings,' was Lord Aberfeldie's conviction.
To Evan Cameron, however, it was evident that Holcroft was 'making all the running he could' during Allan's absences after the game, or apparent occupation with laughing Ruby Logan, while it became evident to Sir Paget and more than one other guest that he got up many a quiet game at ecarté—that most rooking of all games—and many a match at billiards after the ladies had retired; and it was soon remarked by the same close observers that he was a singularly successful player, often pocketing large sums, seldom losing, and then very slenderly, as if to keep up appearances.
At Dundargue he felt himself in clover! He knew, or was aware instinctively, that neither Lady Aberfeldie nor the Master cared much about him; but he also knew that his host was inspired by the kindliest feelings towards him as the only son of an early friend and gallant old Crimean comrade who had gone to his long home.
If any rule governed the erratic life of the horsey and gambling Holcroft, it was that of resolutely shutting his eyes against to-morrow, and letting it take care of itself; and, now that there was a prospect of winning a wife with money—and such a chance seldom came his way—could he but play his cards well and surely, his fortune would be made!
He was a mass of absolute selfishness—the result either of his innate nature or of his nomadic habits. A life-long bankrupt, he had been ever readier to borrow than to lend, to smoke any other fellow's cigars than his own, and to take every advantage of the honourable and unsuspecting.
Such was the perilous inmate which a mistaken sense of kindness, gratitude, and hospitality had induced Lord Aberfeldie to make one of the family circle at Dundargue during the shooting season; and to whom the advent of the bangle—which, though it slipped easily upon his wrist, most mysteriously would not come off it—and other adventitious circumstances, the real cause of which he did not know, gave a considerable amount of what he termed to himself 'modest assurance' and confidence of ultimate success.