sufficient to it. Moreover, his eldest son was a riddle that he had long
given up, so far as women were concerned.

Emerging into the outer hall, he lingered a moment, remembering that he
had not seen his younger and favourite daughter.

"Lady Barbara down yet?" Hearing that she was not, he slipped into the
motor coat held for him by Simmons, and stepped out under the white
portico, decorated by the Caradoc hawks in stone.

The voice of little Ann reached him, clear and high above the smothered
whirring of the car.

"Come on, Grandpapa!"

Lord Valleys grimaced beneath his crisp moustache--the word grandpapa
always fell queerly on the ears of one who was but fifty-six, and by no
means felt it--and jerking his gloved hand towards Ann, he said:

"Send down to the lodge gate for this."

The voice of little Ann answered loudly:

"No; I'm coming back by myself."

The car starting, drowned discussion.

Lord Valleys, motoring, somewhat pathetically illustrated the invasion
of institutions by their destroyer, Science. A supporter of the turf,
and not long since Master of Foxhounds, most of whose soul (outside