Impressed by the oddity of her manner Idris made no demur but offered his arm and accepted her guidance.
Their way led by a private path amid dense shrubbery: now and again through a long-drawn vista in the trees Idris caught a glimpse of the more distant portions of the park.
The dusk of a lovely summer's eve was descending upon the lordly terraces and verdant lawns of Ravenhall. Mellowed by the distance the music of a regimental band floated on the air. Al fresco dancing was taking place beside the margin of a grey-gleaming lake. Above was a sky of darkest blue: below, the myriad lanterns shining amid the dark foliage made the park appear like a scene from fairyland.
Idris contemplated the picture with mixed feelings. If—and it was a very great "if," he admitted—Lorelie was right in asserting that he himself was the true Earl of Ormsby, then all this fair estate was really his. Well, he had resigned his claim in favour of Lorelie, and would not go from his word. But not till this moment did he fully realize the extent of the sacrifice.
"It is a gala day, I perceive," he remarked. "I learned on my way from the station that Lord Walden has attained his majority. He has a splendid estate in futuro. He ought to be a proud man to-day."
"He is proud, ignorant that, like Agamemnon, he is treading on purple to his doom."
Idris was surprised at these words, surprised still more by the bitterness with which Beatrice emphasized them. What did this speech portend?
"You have been living at Ravenhall for the past two months, I understand?" he remarked, for want of something better to say.
"Yes, as Lorelie's companion. This is our last day here. Lorelie and I take our departure to-night."
Idris was more mystified than ever. Beatrice smiled as if enjoying his perplexity.