George, who wanted to smoke, sat down unwillingly in the chair which his sister had left. The lady, whose airs and graces were all for men, put on her most bewitching manner.
“Your sister and I have just been talking about this exquisite place, Mr. Winterham. It must be delightful to live in such a centre of old romance. That lovely ‘Riding of Etterick’ has been running in my head all the way up.”
George privately wondered at the confession. The peculiarly tragic and ghastly fragments which made up “The Riding of Etterick,” seemed scarcely suited to haunt a lady’s memory.
“Had you a long drive?” he asked in despair for a topic.
“Only from Glenavelin.”
He awoke to interest. “Are you staying at Glenavelin just now? The Wisharts are in it, are they not? We were a great deal about the place when the Manorwaters were there.”
“Oh yes. I have heard about Lady Manorwater from Alice Wishart. She must be a charming woman; Alice cannot speak enough about her.”
George’s face brightened. “Miss Wishart is a great friend of mine, and a most awfully good sort.”
“And as you are a great friend of hers I think I may tell you a great secret,” and the lady patted him playfully. “Our pretty Alice is going to be married.”
George was thoroughly roused to attention. “Who is the man?” he asked sharply.