As he left the church Hunsdon took his arm, and begging Lady Mary to excuse them both, led him down the mountain by a side path to Hamilton House. It was evident that the young nobleman had something on his mind, but it was not until they were in Warner’s study, and he had fidgeted about for a few moments that he brought it out.

“Of course, old fellow, you divine that I have a favour to ask?” he said, growing very red, and staring out of the window.

Warner, who had seated himself, looked surprised, but replied that no favour was too great to be asked by the best of friends. Then he wondered if Hunsdon had guessed his love for Anne Percy and was come to warn him from Bath House. With a hot rush of blood to the head he almost hoped that the favour was nothing less and he might relieve his overcharged feelings by pitching Hunsdon out of the window.

But nothing could have been so far from Hunsdon’s well-regulated mind. He had come on a very different errand.

“The truth is—well, my dear Byam, you no doubt have seen how it is with me, long since. The state of my affections. But I do not seem to make much headway. Miss Percy is charming to all, but the only reason that I sometimes permit myself to hope is because she is occasionally rude to me. I am told that is always a propitious sign in females.”

“Do you want me to propose for you?” asked Warner.

“Oh, by no means. I shall do that myself when I think the moment is ripe. But it is not, as yet. What do you think?”

“I have not the least idea, not being an eavesdropper.”

“Of course not, dear old fellow. And naturally you do not take much interest in such matters. But there are certain preliminary steps a man may take, and as I never paid court to a woman before I fear I am not as skilled as some. I feel that you could assist me materially.”

“I have few opportunities of talking apart with Miss Percy, but I am willing to inform her of the high esteem in which I hold you——”

“Oh dear me no. Her aunt, I fear, does too much of that. Young women should not be antagonised by being made to feel that their relatives and friends are too anxious for a match. I fancy they are not unlike us, the best of them, in that regard. No, what I should like, what would be of inestimable service in my suit, would be to have you write a sonnet or madrigal to her in my name, that is to say that I could sign—which would not be so good as to betray the authorship. As you know, many men with no pretensions whatever, write odes and sonnets to their fair ones, but I could not even make a rhyme. She does not know that, however, and if it were not too fine, yet delicately flattering—I feel sure that she would be touched.”

“By all means, my dear fellow.” Warner almost laughed aloud as he wheeled about and took up a quill. He had no jealousy of Hunsdon, knew that he would never win Anne Percy; but the irony of inditing a sonnet to her in the name of another man took away his breath.

He wrote steadily for an hour, copying and polishing, for he was too great an artist to send forth even an anonymous trifle incomplete in finish. Lord Hunsdon, who was a young man of excellent parts, took from the table a copy of the De Augmentis Scientiarum, and read diligently until Warner crossed the room and handed him the sonnet.

Hunsdon was enraptured, but Warner refused to be thanked.

“It would be an odd circumstance,” he said dryly, “if I could not do that much for you.”

Hunsdon blushed furiously. “Only one thing more could make me the happiest of men,” he cried, with that kindling of the eye that in other conditions would have developed into a steady fanaticism. “And when all is well, you must come and live with us. Now that the world has found you once more I feel that I above all should be held to account did you despise and forget it again. I shall not even leave you behind when I return to England. Now, I must run off and copy this. Remember, you dine with us to-night.”