"Good enough for you, Florence," he cried. "What are you so absurd for?"
"For fun. I suppose you know Governor Shirley?" she added after an instant.
"Slightly. But he is an intimate friend of Mr. Royal,—one of my father's friends."
"Ah! yes. Well, what is the difference?"
"Then, last year," said Sir Temple, "we met some people in London." He named several whom Archdale knew.
"And there are two others here now," cried Lady Dacre, "or perhaps I ought not to say two persons, but one and his shadow. People call him a reckless sort of a fellow—the man, not the shadow,—but I think him charming. It is Mr. Edmonson, the best whist player I ever saw."
"And Lord Bulchester?"
"Ah! you know them. Perhaps we are going to meet them at your house? That will be delightful."
"Lady Dacre has a perfect passion for whist," explained her husband.
"You will certainly meet them there if they will do me the honor to become my guests," returned Archdale. Then something that he had heard came back to him, and brought a sudden frown to his face, but it was too late to retract. So, after he had made his friends comfortable at an inn, for they were to dine before starting on their journey, he wrote his invitation and dispatched it by his servant with instructions to bring back an answer. "If the rumor I heard is true, he will not accept," he said to himself.