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Richard and me. I don’t see why you—Sir Richard, there has been a misunderstanding, which certainly can be set straight. On second thought, I’m not sure it is even a misunderstanding—perhaps only on the part of Miss Wells. Of course, she has not seen our correspondence.”
    “They’d have told me,” Kate put in.
    “Kate dear,” Lady Mary said, wondering. “I can’t think why you keep interrupting Mr. Blade.”
    “Blayne, my dear,” Sir Richard said, but was ignored.
    “It’s he who is interrupting me, my lady,” Kate said with passion.
    “I think,” Sir Richard suggested judiciously, “that we’d better let them have turns, my dear. Shall we say ladies first, Mr. Blayne? Or Kate, shall we give him the courtesy as our guest?”
    They faced one another, John Blayne and Kate, neither willing to yield, both knowing that yielding there must be.
    “Come, come,” Sir Richard said gently.
    John Blayne shrugged his shoulders. “I yield. Sir Richard—as an American, I’m trained to chivalry. Ladies first.”
    Sir Richard laughed. He was enjoying the contest. “Very nicely put, I must say! Did you hear that, my dear? Trained to chivalry he says—very nice, for an American, eh?”
    Lady Mary met smile with smile. “He’s much better than expected.”
    “Thank you,” John Blayne said. “And now, if I may confess it, I’m delighted to accept your invitation to luncheon, Lady Mary.”
    She inclined her head and nodded to Wells. “Lay another place, Wells, and use the silver soup tureen.” She glanced at the waiting men. “And in the small dining hall, just the three of us.”
    “Very good, my lady.” Wells disappeared.
    Through all this, Kate had waited in stiff patience. Lady Mary, it seemed, had forgotten the controversy and perhaps Sir Richard wanted it forgotten. Well, she insisted upon it. She turned to face them and spoke with firmness. “Mr. Blayne, pray proceed.”
    He answered with a sort of desperate gaiety.
    “You have the floor, I believe, Miss Wells. No? Very well, then. Sir Richard, she’s right—I’m planning a great piece of folly—quite terrible, in fact. I do plan to take it away.”
    Kate ignored the gaiety. “Sir Richard, it’s the castle he’s taking away.”
    Silence fell. Lady Mary broke it faintly, “Did you say away, Kate?”
    “To America, my lady.”
    “To America?” Lady Mary echoed in a whisper. Then the monstrous meaning crept into her understanding. “Richard—he’s taking the castle to America!”
    Sir Richard went white, then the red came flashing up from his neck. He was suddenly half blind with pain stabbing at his temples. “Mr. Blayne, I don’t understand.”
    “I can’t blame you, Sir Richard,” John Blayne said gently. “It’s my fault. We should have had our lawyers handle the transaction—I’m always too informal—too impetuous—but I thought my letter would explain everything—would be enough …”
    He reached into his pocket for a piece of paper which he unfolded and laid on the table. “Here’s what I had in mind.” It was a sketch of the castle, not in English meadows but against wooded hills.
    Lady Mary fumbled for her spectacles, put them on and stared at the few words in the lower left corner. “Conn-Conn-”
    “Connecticut,” he said.
    “What an odd name,” she observed. “Is it the name of the artist?”
    Sir Richard looked at it with detached interest. Nothing could matter until this hammer in his head ceased to pound. He forced himself to speak.
    “Rather a nice drawing, my dear. It looks like the castle right enough—though the east tower is too short. The two towers should be the same height, Mr. Blayne.”
    Kate stepped forward, she put her hand on John Blayne’s arm and spoke softly. “They still don’t comprehend—they simply can’t. You must help them—indeed you must.”
    He looked down at the small hand on his arm and then into her earnest eyes. He nodded, and she let her hand slip to her