"The luckiest part to my mind was getting past the Vivianis'—I can see them now, very absorbed. Bellanti had doubled 'no trumps.' That saved it, I believe—and the story from getting all over Rome."
They talked for a little longer, then McTaggart rose to his feet.
"It's getting late, I'm afraid." He shook hands with Lady Leason. "Thank you so much for a happy evening"—and turned to the Bishop, who detained him.
"I'm going back to Oxton to-morrow," he blinked for a moment, hesitating.
"I wonder now—would you care to come and spend a quiet week-end with us? Do you know that part of the country at all? It's very pleasant in the summer."
"It's awfully kind of you," said McTaggart. He thought quickly through his engagements—"d'you mean this week-end?" he asked—"if so, I shall be delighted."
"Then that's settled"—the Bishop smiled—"we might travel down together to-morrow—I'm going by the three-fifteen. Would that suit you?"
"Splendidly."
Lady Leason watched the pair, a twinkle in her hazel eyes.
"Well—no Neapolitan adventures." Mischievously she shook a finger at the younger man standing there. For no reason, apparently, McTaggart went a trifle red.