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There was the usual tennis and croquet, while some
of the men enjoyed a little putting on the excellent course my uncle, a
golf enthusiast, had recently laid down.
As I expected, Woodroffe did not accompany the party. Mrs. Leithcourt, a
slightly fussy little woman, apologized for his absence, explaining that
he had been recalled to London suddenly a few days before, but was
returning to Rannoch again at the end of the week.
"We couldn't afford to lose him," she declared to my aunt. "He is so
awfully humorous--his droll sayings and antics keep us in a perfect roar
each night at dinner. He's such a perfect mimic."
I turned away and strolled with Muriel, pleading an excuse to show her
my uncle's beautiful grounds, not a whit less picturesque than those of
the castle, and perhaps rather better kept.
"I only heard yesterday of your engagement, Miss Leithcourt," I remarked
presently when we were alone. "Allow me to offer my best
congratulations. When you introduced me to Mr. Woodroffe the other day I
had no idea that he was to be your husband.


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