y Queen, and Logan slowly followed. No; he did _not_ approve of the
proceedings of his Society as exemplified by Miss Willoughby, and he was
nearly guilty of falling asleep during the drive to Winderby Abbey.
Scremerston was not much more genial, for his father was driving and
conversing very gaily with his fair kinswoman.

'Talk about a distant cousin!' thought Logan, who in fact felt
ill-treated. However deep in love a man may be, he does not like to see
a fair lady conspicuously much more interested in other members of his
sex than in himself.

The Abbey was a beautiful ruin, and Father Riccoboni did not conceal from
Lady Mary the melancholy emotions with which it inspired him.

'When shall our prayers be heard?' he murmured. 'When shall England
return to her Mother's bosom?'

Lady Mary said nothing, but privately trusted that the winds would
disperse the orisons of which the Father spoke. Perhaps nuns had been
bricked up in these innocent-looking mossy walls, thought Lady Mary,
whose ideas on this matter were derived from a scene in the poem of
_Marmion_. And deep in Lady Mary's heart was a half-formed wish that, if
there was to be any bricking up, Miss Willoughby might be the interesting
victim. Unlike her brother the Earl, she was all for the Bangs alliance.

Scremerston took the reins on the homeward way, the Earl being rather
fatigued; and, after dinner, _two_ white robes flitted ghost-like on the
lawn, and the light which burned red beside one of them was the cigar-tip
of Scremerston. The Earl had fallen asleep in the drawing-room, and
Logan took a lonely stroll, much regretting that he had come to a house
where he felt decidedly 'out of it.' He wandered down to the river, and
stood watching. He was beside the dark-brown water in the latest
twilight, beside a long pool with a boat moored on the near bank. He sat
down in the boat pensively, and then--what was that? It was the sound of
a heavy trout rising. '_Plop_, _plop_!' They were feeding all round
him.

'By Jove! I'll try the bustard to-morrow night, and then I'll go back to
town next day,' thought Logan. 'I am doing no good here, and I don't
like it. I shall tell Merton that I have moral objections to the whole
affair. Miserable, mercenary fraud!' Thus, feeling very moral and
discontented, Logan walked back to the house, carefully avoiding the
ghostly robes that still glimmered on the lawn, and did not re-enter the
house till bedtime