caprice that she didn't go to Malford; she meant it to annoy."

"I say, do let me get warm," said Tressady at last, breaking from his
tormentors, and coming up to the open log fire, in front of which the
young man stood. "Where's Fontenoy vanished to?"

"Went up to write letters directly he had swallowed a cup of tea," said
the young man, whose name was Bayle; "and called Marks to go with him."
(Marks was Lord Fontenoy's private secretary.)

George Tressady threw up his hands in disgust.

"It's absurd. He never allows himself an hour's peace. If he expects me
to grind as he does, he'll soon regret that he lent a hand to put me into
Parliament. Well, I'm stiff all over, and as tired as a rat. I'll go and
have a warm bath before dinner."

But still he lingered, warming his hands over the blaze, and every now
and then scanning the gallery which ran round the big hall. Bayle chatted
to Mm about some of the incidents of the day. George answered at random.
He did, indeed, look tired out, and his expression was restless and
discontented.

Suddenly there was a cry from the group of young men and maidens who were
amusing themselves in the centre of the hall.

"Why, there's Letty! and as fresh as paint."

George turned abruptly. Bayle saw his manner stiffen and his eye kindle.