The rain poured down on the Monday morning; and Lord Hartledon stood at
the window of the countess-dowager's sitting-room--one she had
unceremoniously adopted for her own private use--smoking a cigar, and
watching the clouds. Any cigar but his would have been consigned to the
other side the door. Mr. Elster had only shown (by mere accident) the
end of his cigar-case, and the dowager immediately demanded what he meant
by displaying that article in the presence of ladies. A few minutes
afterwards Lord Hartledon entered, smoking, and was allowed to enjoy his
cigar with impunity. Good-tempered Val's delicate lips broke into a
silent smile as he marked the contrast.

He lounged on the sofa, doing nothing, in his idle fashion; Lord
Hartledon continued to watch the clouds. On the previous Saturday night
the gentlemen had entered into an argument about boating: the result was
that a match on the river was arranged, and some bets were pending on it.
It had been fixed to come off this day, Monday; but if the rain continued
to come down, it must be postponed; for the ladies, who had been promised
the treat, would not venture out to see it.

"It has come on purpose," grumbled Lord Hartledon. "Yesterday was as fine
and bright as it could be, the glass standing at set fair; and now, just
because this boating was to come off, the rain peppers down!"

The rain excepted, it was a fair vision that he looked out upon. The room
faced the back of the house, and beyond the lovely grounds green slopes
extended to the river, tolerably wide here, winding peacefully in its
course. The distant landscape was almost like a scene from fairyland.

The restless dowager--in a nondescript head-dress this morning, adorned