"It is like a picnic five hundred years back," said Humphrey. "I have heard talk, all my life, about this place. My father always intended to visit it, but at last grew too old."
Hilarie watched her two guests. The taller, Humphrey, had the manners of society; he seemed to be what the world, justly jealous, allows to be a gentleman. Yet he had a certain coldness of manner, and he accepted the beauty of this ancient place without surprise or enthusiasm.
"What are you by profession, Cousin Humphrey?" she asked.
"Nothing, as yet; I have been travelling since I left Cambridge." He laid his card before her—"Sir Humphrey Woodroffe."
"You have the title from your father. I hope you will create new distinctions for yourself."
"I suppose," he said coldly, "that I shall go into the House. My people seem to want it. There are too many cads in the House, but it seems that we cannot get through the world without encountering cads." He looked through his hostess, so to speak, and upon the third cousin, perhaps accidentally.
"You certainly cannot," observed the third. "For instance, I am sitting with you at luncheon."
"You will play something presently, Dick, won't you?"
Molly, sitting on the other side of the table, saw a quick flush upon her friend's cheek, and hastened to avert further danger. One may be a cad, but some cads are sensitive to an openly avowed contempt for cads.
Dick laughed. "All right, Molly. What shall I play? Something serious, befitting the place? Luncheon is over—I will play now, if you like." He looked down the hall. "That, I suppose, is the musicians' loft?"