She let him lead her into a side aisle where a battered knightly figure lay on an altar-tomb. It was still and cool in this dim nook, and faint lights and shadows fell softly on the old warrior in his repose. The boy stood looking at him in silence.
"I wonder who he was," Elsie said in a low voice.
"His name was Lionel de Wayne," replied Arnold, at her elbow; "and he was one of the goodliest knights that ever bare shield. 'His soul is with the saints, I trust.'"
"Amen," said Elsie gravely. Jamie looked up at both the speakers with big blue eyes.
"I have some records of him at the Court," Arnold went on. "You must come and turn them over some day; if you care about such things, you will find a store."
"I do care," she answered. "Why do you not write a book about the Court, Mr. Wayne? England likes to know the histories of her stately old houses, and there is a great deal to tell."
"We will write it together," he said; and her heart gave a sudden throb.
"We had lost you!" Mary Danforth exclaimed behind the pair. "Arnold, Mrs. Verdon has promised to lunch with us; won't you come too?"
"I'll think about it," he replied, relapsing into that lazy manner which his friends knew so well.
"There isn't much time to think of it," said Mary, rather sharply. "You know father likes his luncheon punctually at half-past one."