"One came this morning from Mrs. Scobel. I think it was the fifth."
"How many lockets inscribed with A. E. I. or 'Mizpah'?"
"My darling, I could not possibly count those. There were three more by post this morning."
"You see there is rather a sameness in these things," said Lady Mabel; "and you can understand why I am not rabidly curious about the contents of these parcels. I feel sure there will be another 'Mizpah' among them."
She had received Lord Mallow's tribute, an Irish jaunting-car, built upon the newest lines, and altogether a most perfect vehicle for driving to a meet in, so light and perfectly balanced as to travel safely through the ruttiest glade in Mark Ash.
Rorie's gifts had all been given, so Lady Mabel could afford to make light of the unopened parcels without fear of wounding the feelings of anyone present.
They were opened by-and-by, when the Duke came in from his farm, sorely disturbed in his mind at the serious indisposition of a six-hundred-guinea cart-horse, which hapless prize animal had been fatted to such an inflammatory condition that in his case the commonest ailment might prove deadly. Depressed by this calamity, the Duke required to be propped up with sherry and Angustura bitters, which tonic mixture was presently brought to him by one of the match footmen, who looked very much as if he were suffering from the same plethoric state that was likely to prove fatal to the cart-horse. Happily, the footman's death would be but a temporary inconvenience. The Duke had not given six hundred guineas for him.
Lady Mabel opened her parcels, in the hope of distracting her father from the contemplation of his trouble.
"From whom can this be?" she asked wonderingly, "with the Jersey post-mark? Do I know anyone in Jersey?"
Roderick grew suddenly crimson, and became deeply absorbed in the business of peeling a nectarine.