CHAPTER IX.
WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK.
At the edge of the wood which skirted that section of Stranleigh Park surrounding the Manor-house, and in the deep shadow of fringing trees, young Lord Stranleigh lay stretched out, a picture of indolence, on sward as green as the Emerald Isle, and soft as a Persian carpet. The summer heat caused him to abandon the knickerbocker suit of faded Harris tweed that all his underlings thought scandalous for a nobleman to wear, and he had put on a scarcely more respectable costume of Oxford boating flannels that had once been white, with a blazer sporting the arms of his College. Around his waist was knotted a scarf, many-hued like Joseph's coat, and his cravat was red as the flag of an anarchist procession. His fingers were interlaced behind his head, and he gazed up at the blue sky flecked by little white clouds that promised continued good weather.
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