engrafted every little use of the convention. The art was learned, but
the man was always apart from it; using it as a toy, yet not despising
it; for, as he said, it had its points, it was necessary. There was
yachting in the summer; but he was keener to know the life of England
and his heritage than to roam afar, and most of the year was spent on the
estate and thereabouts: with the steward, with the justices of the peace,
in the fields, in the kennels, among the accounts.

To-day he was in London, haunting Tattersall's, the East End, the docks,
his club, the London Library--he had a taste for English history,
especially for that of the seventeenth century; he saturated himself with
it: to-morrow he would present to his grandfather a scheme for improving
the estate and benefiting the cottagers. Or he would suddenly enter the
village school, and daze and charm the children by asking them strange
yet simple questions, which sent a shiver of interest to their faces.

One day at the close of his second hunting-season there was to be a ball
at the Court, the first public declaration of acceptance by his people;
for, at his wish, they did not entertain for him in town the previous
season--Lady Belward had not lived in town for years. But all had gone
so well, if not with absolute smoothness, and with some strangeness,--
that Gaston had become an integral part of their life, and they had
ceased to look for anything sensational.

This ball was to be the seal of their approval. It had been mentioned in
'Truth' with that freshness and point all its own. What character than
Gaston's could more appeal to his naive imagination? It said in a
piquant note that he did not wear a dagger and sombrero.

Everything was ready. Decorations were up, the cook and the butler had