"Well, then, let us make a party. Ernest, will you go to Lisbon while Teviot is there? Portmore and I are going over in our yacht, and we will take you if you like to go."
"Not I; what! go tossing about the Bay of Biscay in October in that cockle-shell! I think I see myself. No, thank you; besides, my noble soul scorns the thought of being merely one of Teviot's suite."
"Ver good," said La Grange, "but more bitter than sweet. There, I have make one pon. I say. Lady Portmore, the colonel is more bitter than sweet; that is two pons."
"I doubt, M. la Grange, whether you understand the colonel better than I understand puns. I think that man much too detestable," said Lady Portmore to Lord Teviot, "and I see clearly I am in a sad scrape with Ernest. The truth is, I have neglected him rather shamefully, considering that he came here purposely to meet me; but he will soon come into good humour again. Beaufort, will you join our party?"
"I object to that," said Helen, looking up with sudden animation. "Beaufort is going home with me."
That one word was enough to explain to the refined ears of most of her hearers how matters stood between the husband and wife. It was discord to Lord Teviot, grief to Lord Beaufort and Mary, but music to Colonel Stuart, who was seated by Helen, and at that moment thought "My time is come."
"I fear Lady Sophia's health must make it necessarily only a family party at Eskdale," he said in his softest tones, "or I would accept an invitation your father was so good as to give me. I have been almost afraid to ask what your account was this afternoon?"
"Not good, certainly; but perhaps I see things en noir to-day. At all events, the less we talk about it the better; but you would do wisely. Colonel Stuart, to put off your visit to Eskdale till it would be a less dull one."
