blood-tinged; he wore garments
of a semi-clerical cut and colour, though he was not in orders. He held
out a hand to each with elaborate geniality.

"Ha, Bultitude, my boy, how are you? How are you, Jolland? Come back
braced in body and mind by your vacation, eh? That's as it should be.
Have you tickets? No? follow me then. You're both over age, I believe.
There you are; take care of them."

And before Paul could protest, he had purchased tickets for all three,
after which he laid an authoritative hand upon Mr. Bultitude's shoulder
and walked him out through the booking hall upon the platform.

"This is awful," thought Paul, shrinking involuntarily; "simply awful.
He evidently has no idea who I really am. Unless I'm very careful I
shall be dragged off to Crichton House before I can put him right. If I
could only get him away alone somewhere."

As if in answer to the wish, the Doctor guided him by a slight pressure
straight along by the end of the station, saying to Jolland as he did
so, "I wish to have a little serious conversation with Richard in
private. Suppose you go to the bookstall and see if you can find out any
of our young friends. Tell them to wait for me there."

When they were alone the Doctor paced solemnly along in silence for some
moments, while Paul, who had always been used to consider himself a
fairly prominent object, whatever might be his surroundings, began to
feel an altogether novel sensation of utter insignificance upon that
immense brown plain of platform and under the huge span of the arches
whose girders were lost in wreaths of mingled fog and smoke.

Still he had some hope. Was it not possible, after all, that the Doctor
had divined his secret and was searching for words delicate enough to
convey his condolences?

"I wished to tell you, Bultitude," said the Doctor presently, and his
first words dashed all Paul's rising hopes, "that I hope you are
returning this term with the resolve to do better things. You have
caused your excellent father much pain in the past. You little know the
grief a wilful boy can inflict on his parent."

"I think I have a very fair idea of it," thought Paul, but he said
nothing.

"I hope you left him in good health? Such a devoted parent,
Richard--such a noble heart!"

At any other time Mr. Bultitude might have felt gratified by these
eulogies, but just then he was conscious that he could lay no claim to
them. It was Dick who had the noble heart now, and