"When you get to Invershin," his lordship continued, thoughtfully, "you can telegraph to the Station Hotel at Inverness what you want for dinner. No soup; I make it a rule never to take soup in a big hotel; a friendly manager once warned me in confidence. You'll be glad to have a bit of white fish after so much grilse and sea-trout."
"Oh, I'll take my chance," Lionel said; it was not dinner that was occupying his thoughts.
There was a sound of horses' hoofs and carriage wheels; the wagonette was being brought round to the front door.
"I consider it very shabby of Honnor not to have stayed to say good-bye," Lady Adela said to her departing guest. "She might have given up one morning's fishing, I think, especially as you have been such an assiduous attendant—carrying her things for her, and keeping her company on those long excursions—"
"Oh, don't be afraid," said Miss Georgie, with a bit of a covert laugh. "Honnor won't forsake her friend like that. I'll bet you she won't be far from the Horse's Drink when Mr. Moore has to cross the stream."
"If I were you," Lord Rockminster finally said, in a confidential undertone, as they all rose from the table, "I would telegraph about dinner."
How Lionel hated the sight of this open door, and the wagonette, and the portmanteau up beside the coachman!
"Good-bye, Mr. Moore," said the pleasant-mannered young matron to him, as she took his hand for a moment. "I'm afraid it has been awfully dull for you—"
"Lady Adela!" he said.
"But the next time you come we shall try to be less monotonously bucolic. Perhaps by then the phonograph will be able to bring us a whole musical evening from London, whenever we want it—a whole performance of an operetta—"