"Au revoir--eleven o'clock," said Viviette, and she fled.

Lord Banstead dismounted, gave his horse to the lad, and came up to
Dick. He was an unhealthy, dissipated-looking young man, with lustreless
eyes, a characterless chin, and an underfed moustache. He wore a light
blue hunting stock, fastened by a ruby fox in full gallop, and a round
felt hat with a very narrow flat brim, beneath which protruded strands
of Andrew aguecheek hair.

"Hallo, Banstead," said Dick, not very cordially.

"Hallo," said the other, halting before the rose-bed, where Dick was
tying up some blooms with bast. He watched him for a moment or two.
Conversation was not spontaneous.

"Where's Viviette?" he asked eventually.

"Who?" growled Dick.

"Rot. What's the good of frills? Miss Hastings."

"Busy. She'll be busy all the morning."

"I rather wanted to see her."

"I don't think you will. You might ring at the front door and send in
your card."

"I might," said Banstead, lighting a cigar. He had tried this method of
seeing Viviette before, but without success. There was another pause.