"Idris," said Godfrey, "you love that young lady."
"And you must have a heart of stone not to love her, too."
"Humph! it would be rather awkward if all men were to desire the same woman. Isn't one rival enough for you?"
Truth to tell, Idris had been much disquieted by the readiness with which Lorelie had surrendered herself to the will of Viscount Walden. It seemed almost as if some secret understanding existed between them. Godfrey, though he refrained from saying so, had no doubt whatever on the point.
"All things being equal," he continued, "I believe the lady would favour you: but, you see, a prospective coronet is a very powerful attraction, and I fear the coronet will gain the day."
Idris repudiated this forecast, vigorously anathematizing the name of Viscount Walden, after which his thoughts turned to a theme, almost equal in interest to his love for Lorelie, namely, his father's fate.
"He was not on the yacht when it sank, so Mademoiselle Rivière declares: then what became of him? I did right to come to Ormsby, it seems, since it was in this neighbourhood that he was last heard of. But, alas! that was twenty-two years ago. Is he living to-day, and shall I ever find him?"