can imagine that bestrides a
horse and does brave things. He finished up at your horrid little war,
and got fever at Targai. You must have known him. He calls it 'a muddle
on the frontier,' and now he is writing a book about it, and about other
muddles, and how to avoid them. But he has a quite eccentric dislike to
titles and big properties; so he has shied really badly at mine. He has
gone off to 'face it out' alone. Hence you find me sad instead of gay."

Billy looked at Ronnie, telegraphing: "Is it? It must be! Shall we tell
her?"

Ronnie telegraphed back: "It is! It can be no other. _You_ tell her."

Lady Ingleby became aware of these crosscurrents.

"What is it, boys?" she said,

"Dear Queen," cried Billy, with hardly suppressed excitement; "may we ask
the cowboy person's name?"

"Jim Airth," replied Lady Ingleby, a sudden rush of colour flooding her
pale cheeks.

"In that case," said Billy, "he is the chap we met tearing along to the
railway station, as if all the furies were loose at his heels. He looked
neither to the right nor to the left, nor, for that matter, in front of
him; and our dog-cart had to take to the path! So he did not see two old
comrades, nor did he hear their hail. But he cannot possibly have been
fleeing from your title, dear lady, and hardly from your property; seeing
that his own title is about the oldest known in Scottish history; while
mile after mile of moor and stream and forest belong to him. Surely you
knew that the fellow who called himself 'Jim Airth' when out ranching in
the West, and still keeps it as his _nom-de-plume_, is--when at
home--James, Earl of Airth and Monteith, and a few other names I have
forgotten;--the finest old title in Scotland!"

CHAPTER XVIII

WHAT BILLY HAD TO TELL

"Did you bring your rackets, boys?" Lady Ingleby had said, with fine
self-control; adding, when they admitted rackets left in the hall, "Ah, I
am glad you never can resist the chestnut court. It seems ages since I
saw you two fight out a single. Do go on and begin. I will order tea out
there in half an hour, and follow you."

Then she escaped to the terrace, flew across garden and lawn, and sought
the shelter of the beeches. Arrived there, she sank into the chair in
which Jim Airth had sat so immovable, and covered her face with her
trembling fingers.

"Oh, Jim, Jim!" she sobbed. "My darling, how grievously I wronged you! My
king among men! How I misjudged you! Imputing to yo