"What do you mean by saying he is going into a way?" asked Lord Hartledon.
"Consumption, or something of that sort. Papa died of it. You are not angry with me for having Bob?"
"Angry! My dear Maude, the house is yours; and if poor Bob stayed with us for ever, I should welcome him as a brother. Every one likes Bob."
"Except mamma. She does not like invalids in the house, and has been saying you don't like it; that it was helping to keep you away. Poor Bob had out his portmanteau and began to pack; but I told him not to mind her; he was my guest, not hers."
"And mine also, you might have added."
He left the room, and went to the chamber Captain Kirton had occupied when he was at Hartledon in the spring. It was empty, evidently not being used; and Hartledon sent for Mirrable. She came, looking just as usual, wearing a dark-green silk gown; for the twelve-month had expired, and their mourning was over.
"Captain Kirton is in the small blue rooms facing south, my lord. They were warmer for him than these."
"Is he very ill, Mirrable?"
"Very, I think," was the answer. "Of course he may get better; but it does not look like it."
He was a tall, thin, handsome man, this young officer—a year or two older than Maude, whom he greatly resembled. Seated before a table, he was playing at that delectable game "solitaire;" and his eyes looked large and wild with surprise, and his cheeks became hectic, when Lord Hartledon entered.