CHAPTER XIII COLONEL SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX, BART.

For a second everything swam before my eyes, and it always seemed to me afterwards a miracle that I recovered myself sufficiently to accept his outstretched hand, and mutter some intelligible response to his courteous speech of greeting. For the stately, white-haired, military-looking man who had entered the room was so like my father that I had very nearly called him by name.

At the sound of my voice he started slightly, and, adjusting an eye-glass, looked at me steadily. Then he, too, seemed to receive something of a shock, for he turned abruptly away towards the window, and I could see that his long white fingers were shaking.

"I must ask your pardon, Mr. Arbuthnot," he said, suddenly looking round and scanning me over again. "The fact is, your appearance recalled some one to my mind whom—whom I have not seen for many years."

I bowed silently. I understood his emotion better than, he imagined, and my heart was warming to him in consequence of it.

"You are welcome to Devereux, sir," he went on, cordially. "I hope you find your quarters fairly comfortable."

I began to thank him for the generosity of his arrangements, but he stopped me at once.

"If you are satisfied, that is well. I hope you will like the place," he went on, after a moment's pause, "for I think that you will suit me. Mr. Andrews will explain what your duties will be on the estate. I don't think you'll find them particularly arduous. You shoot, I hope, and hunt, and fish? H'm, I thought so. I'm glad to hear it. I wanted some one who would be able to show my guests, when I have any, what there is to do about the place, and who won't mind a day amongst the stubble with an old man now and then," he added, pleasantly. "Have you seen anything of the place yet?"

I told him of my early ride, and that all the impressions I had as yet received of the country and its surroundings were pleasant ones. He was delighted to hear it, he told me.

"And your sister. Does she think that she will be able to make herself at home here?"

I assured him that there was very little doubt about that. She had been used to the country all her life.

We talked for awhile of the estate, and the share of its management which would fall to my lot. There was much that wanted doing, he said, and I was glad to hear it, for though I had come here with another ultimate object, I had no desire to spend my time in idleness. We talked for a long while, he seeming anxious to keep me there, and asking many personal questions which I found it not altogether easy to answer. But at last the luncheon bell rang out, and then he let me go.

"I should like to show you round the place myself," he said, as we walked down the hall together. "Be ready at three o'clock, and I will call for you. We will ride, of course."

Just as we passed the foot of the great oak staircase which descended into the centre of the hall, we came face to face with the two girls who had been playing tennis. Sir Francis stopped at once.

"Ah, Maud, dear, let me introduce you to Mr. Arbuthnot. Mr. Arbuthnot, this is my niece, Miss Devereux, and her friend, Lady Olive Parkhurst."

My cousin bowed very slightly, and scarcely paused in her progress across the hall. But Lady Olive lingered to throw a saucy glance at me over her shoulder.

"You two men have wasted a delightful morning gossiping," she said, lightly. "Maud and I have been dying with curiosity to know what it's all been about."

Miss Devereux was standing in one of the doorways a little way off, with the slightest possible frown of impatience on her face, and looking decidedly supercilious at her friend's remark, although she did not take the trouble to contradict it. They had both changed their morning gowns for riding habits, and though Lady Olive, with her trim, dainty figure and coquettish smile, looked sufficiently charming, I could not help my eyes dwelling the longest on Maud Devereux. Fair, proud, and cold, with slim yet perfectly graceful figure, she reminded me of Tennyson's Princess. It was only for a moment that I looked at her, but her eyes chanced to meet mine, and the frown on her statuesque young face deepened, as though to admire her even were a liberty. I turned away at once, and moved a step nearer the door.

"We have wasted a beautiful morning, certainly," Sir Francis remarked; "but we are going to make up for it this afternoon. Mr. Arbuthnot and I are going to ride together on a tour of inspection. Would you young ladies care to join us?"

Lady Olive leaned forward with a beaming smile.

"I should like it immensely," she declared.

"You forget, Olive, that we are going to call on the Annerleys this afternoon," remarked Maud Devereux, in a cold tone of disapprobation. "Luncheon is quite ready, uncle."

Lady Olive gathered up her skirts, and, nodding to me with a comical grimace, took Sir Francis's arm.

"Good-morning, Mr. Arbuthnot. I'm so sorry we can't come. I should like to see how you manage the Black Prince."

"You will have plenty of other opportunities," Sir Francis remarked. "Good-morning, Arbuthnot; be ready about three o'clock."

And so ended my first visit to Devereux Court.