"And you go up in the spring, you said?"
"Yes. That is the real fishing-time. My brother Hugh and I have it all to ourselves then; Lady Adela and the rest of them prefer London."
And then it was almost in his heart to cry out to her, "May not I, too, go up there, if but for a single week—for six clear-shining days in the springtime?" Ben More, Suilven, Canisp—oh, to see them once again!—and the windy skies, and Geinig thundering down its rocky chasm, and Aivron singing its morning song along the golden gravel of its shoals! what did he want with any theatre?—with the harlequinade in which he was losing his life? Could he not escape? Euston station was not so far away—and Invershin? It seemed to him as though he had already shaken himself free—that a gladder pulsation filled his veins—that he was breathing a sweeter air. The white April days shone all around him; the silver and purple clouds went flying overhead; here he was by the deep, brown pools again, with the gray rocks and the overhanging birch-woods and the long shallows filling all the world with that soft, continuous murmur. As for his singing?—oh, yes, he could sing—he could sing, if needs were,
"O lang may his lady-love
Look frae the Castle Doune,
Ere she see the Earl o' Moray
Come sounding through the toun"—
but there is no gaslight here—there are no painted faces—he has not to look on at the antics of a clown, with shame and confusion in his heart—
The wild fancy was suddenly snapped in twain; Lady Cunyngham rose; the two younger people did likewise.
"Now, I know you gentlemen like a cigar or cigarette after luncheon," she said to Lionel, "and we are going to leave you quite by yourself—you will find us in the drawing-room when you please."