"By Jove!" exclaimed Lord Horace, "he has taken me at my word. Saw him at the Bean-tree to-day, and asked him to look us up, if he was passing. He said he was going straight on to-night."
Elsie looked excited. "Dominic Trant! Dominic—what an odd name!"
Lord Horace brought his guest in. Mr. Trant was rather a good-looking man of from thirty to thirty-five. Elsie decided first that he was distinctly Irish, secondly that he was not quite a gentleman. If he had been a gentleman he might have sat for one of Velasquez's pictures, but there was a certain commonness about him which destroyed the effect of his otherwise artistic appearance. He had an accent too, and Elsie detested a brogue. But he had fine black eyes, and a well-featured sallow face. His manner was rather elaborate. He called Lady Horace "Your Ladyship," but after the first time or two dropped into familiarity, and was almost free and easy. He scarcely took his eyes off Elsie.
He explained his arrival. He had stopped late at the Bean-tree, later than he had intended. The fact was he had waited for a telegram from his partner Blake, who was thinking of coming up to Baròlin.
"Your partner doesn't pay many visits to Baròlin," said Frank Hallett.
"Well, no," replied Mr. Trant. "Blake was rather taken in over Baròlin, that's the truth. He was disgusted, and turned the whole shop over to me. It's a fiddling little place is Baròlin, and dull as ditch-water."
"I expect it will be livelier now that the police are turning out on the Upper Luya to hunt for Moonlight," said Lord Horace.
"Oh, Moonlight!" said Mr. Trant with a laugh. "Do ye think they'll catch him?"
"They won't, unless the squatters lend a hand," said Hallett; "and it's a queer thing, but the squatters don't seem so down on Moonlight as you'd suppose. He hasn't bailed up any of them yet."
