"_He_ heir to Hartledon! Don't trouble yourself, young man, to imagine
that Val Elster's ever likely to come into Hartledon. Do you want to
shoot his lordship, as _he_ was shot?"

The uncalled-for retort, the strangely intemperate tones, the quick
passionate fling of the hand towards the portrait astonished young
Carteret not a little. Others were surprised also; and not one present
but stared at the speaker. But she said no more. The pea-green turban and
flaxen curls were nodding ominously; and that was all.

The animus to Val Elster was very marked. Lord Hartledon glanced at his
brother with a smile, and led the way back to the other drawing-room. At
that moment the butler announced dinner; the party filed across the hall
to the fine old dining-room, and began finding their seats.

"I shall sit there, Val. You can take a chair at the side."

Val did look surprised at this. He was about to take the foot of his
brother's table, as usual; and there was the pea-green turban standing
over him, waiting to usurp it. It would have been quite beyond Val
Elster, in his sensitiveness, to tell her she should not have it; but he
did feel annoyed. He was sweet-tempered, however. Moreover, he was a
gentleman, and only waited to make one remark.

"I fear you will not like this place, ma'am. Won't it look odd to see a
lady at the bottom of the table?"

"I have promised my dear nephew to act as mistress, and to see after his
guests; and I don't choose to sit at the side under those circumstances."