"Unfortunately, so far, I have not been allowed an opportunity for such extended knowledge. I'm rarely left alone with her long enough for a proper interchange of ideas. There are always so many plans and excursions on foot."
"By George, you're off with her all the time, somewhere!"
"Not for long," said Lord Canning, gloomily. "Before one is aware, it's lunch or dinner—meals are so interfering! What's that?" Lord Stafford peered out of the window. They were sitting in his room, which was flooded with moonlight.
"It's that Masters fellow. He's playing his mandolin on the lake. Fancy, at this hour!"
They smoked for awhile in silence, listening. It was long after twelve.
"We're going on a moonlight picnic to the Falls to-morrow night."
"Are we?"
"So Mrs. Bunker told me. We drove there our first day here—don't you remember?"
Lord Canning looked at his uncle in utter contempt.
"Do I remember? What a delightful day it was, that first day! And how many delightful days we have had since! Let me see. We have been here going on four weeks—is it possible?"