bly. 'I ordered it to be sent down
here regularly, but it never turns up by any chance. I should think
even you must be getting anxious to know what's become of the world
outside this happy valley?'

'I can't say I am particularly,' said Holroyd; 'I'm so used to being
without papers now.'

'Ah,' said Caffyn, with the slightest of sneers, 'you've got one of
those minds which can be converted into pocket kingdoms on an
emergency. I haven't, you know. I'm a poor creature, and I confess I
do like to know who of my friends have been the last to die, or burst
up, or bolt, or marry--just now the last particularly. I wonder what's
going on in the kitchen, eh?' he added, as now and then shouts and
laughter came from that direction. 'Hallo, Jennie, Polly, whatever
your name is,' he said to the red-cheeked waiting-maid who entered
that instant, 'we didn't ring, but never mind; you just come in time
to tell us the cause of these unwonted festivities--who've you got in
your kitchen?'

'It's t' hoons,' said the girl.

'Hounds, is it? jolly dogs, rather, I should say.'

'Ay, they've killed near here, and they're soopin' now. Postman's coom
over fra' Drigg wi' a letter--will it be for wan of ye?' and she held
out an eccentrically shaped and tinted envelope; 'there's a bonny
smell on it,' she observed.

'It's all right,' said Caffyn, 'it's mine; no newspapers, eh? Well,
perhaps this will do as well!' and as the door closed upon the maid he
tore open the letter with some eagerness. 'From the magnificent Miss
Featherstone--I must say there's no stiffness about her style,
though! What should _you_ say when a letter begins like this---- I
forgot, though,' he said, stopping himself, 'you're the kind of man
who gets no love-letters to speak of.'

'None at all,' said Vincent; 'certainly not to speak of.'

'Well, it's best to keep out of that sort of thing, I dare say, if you
can. Gilda tells me that she's been officiating as bridesmaid--full
list of costumes and presents--"sure it will interest me," is she?
Well, perhaps she's right. Do you know, Holroyd, I rather think I
shall go in and see how the jovial huntsmen are getting on in there.
You don't mind my leaving you?'

'Not in the least,' said Holroyd; 'I shall be very comfortable here.'

'I don't quite like leaving you in here with nothing to occupy your
powerful mind, though,' and he left the room. He came back almost
directly, however, with a copy of some paper in his hand: