"Yes, I did; and I recollect the evening. Lennox?--Lennox? Ay, I do remember him now. A fair, slender man of very gentlemanly manners: wore a white rose in his button-hole."
"That's he. One can hardly believe him to be an accomplished swindler."
"If he played these pranks often, helping himself to jewels and purses, and the like, he must have been uncommonly lucky to go on so long without detection," observed Sir Gunton.
"The very remark Conroy made to me."
"Pray, who is Conroy?"
"The luckiest man living," replied Philip, with enthusiasm.
"That's saying a good deal," cried the baronet, lifting his eyebrows.
"Well, upon my word, I think he is, Gunton," returned Philip. "He is nothing but a man connected with newspapers; draws cartoons for them, or something of that. He and Miss Winter met somewhere and fell in love with one another, and she means to marry him and make him the master of Heron Dyke."
"Oh, indeed. What next?"
"I think that's pretty well. You can't say but he is lucky."