William pears had gone their rounds--all home produce--and had been
admired and praised, and the Squire's full voice was mellowing after
his second glass of port, when the butler came in with a letter on a
salver, and carried it, with muffled footfall and solemn visage, as of
one who entrusted with the delivery of a death-warrant, straight to
Roderick Vawdrey.

The young man looked at it as if he had encountered an unexpected
visitor of the adder tribe.

"My mother," he faltered.

It was a large and handsome letter with a big red seal.

"May I?" asked Rorie, with a troubled visage, and having received his
host and hostess's assent, broke the seal.

"Dear Roderick,--Is it quite kind of you to absent yourself on this
your last night at home? I feel very sure that this will find you at
the Abbey House, and I send the brougham at a venture. Be good enough
to come home at once. The Dovedales arrived at Ashbourne quite
unexpectedly this afternoon, and are dining with me on purpose to see
you before you go back to Oxford. If your own good feeling did not urge
you to spend this last evening with me, I wonder that Mr. and Mrs.
Tempest were not kind enough to suggest to you which way your duty
lay.--Yours anxiously,

"JANE VAWDREY."

Roderick crumpled the letter with an angry look. That fling at the
Tempests hit him hard. Why was it that his mother was always so ready
to find fault with these chosen friends of his?

"Anything wrong, Rorie?" asked the Squire.

"Nothing; except that the Dovedales are dining with my mother; and I'm
to go home directly."

"If you please, ma'am, Master Vawdrey's servant has come for him," said
Vixen, mimicking the style of announcement at a juvenile party. "It's
quite too bad, Rorie," she went on, "I had made up my mind to beat you
at pyramids. However I daresay you're very glad to have the chance of
seeing your pretty cousin before you leave Hampshire."

But Rorie shook his head dolefully, made his adieux, and departed.

CHAPTER II.

Lady Jane Vawdrey.

"It is not dogs only that are jealous!" thought Roderick, as he went
home in the brougham, with all the windows down, and the cool night
breeze blowing his cigar smoke away into the forest, to mix with the
mist wreaths that were curling up from the soft ground. It was an
offence of the highest grade to smoke in his mother's carriage; but
Rorie was in an evil temper just now, and found a kind of bitter
pleasure in disobedie