life? You do nothing absolutely all
day but walk to and fro between the hotel and the Friary."

"Come, now," retorted her cousin, in an injured tone, "I call that
confoundedly hard on a fellow who has come all these thousands of
miles just to cultivate his relations and enjoy a little relaxation.
Have I not worked hard enough all my life to earn a holiday now?"

"Oh, yes," she returned, provokingly, "we all know how hard you have
worked; but all the same it does not do to play at idleness too long.
You are very much improved, Harry. Your tailor has done wonders for
you; and I should not be ashamed to walk down Bond Street with you any
afternoon, though the people do stare, because you are so big. But
don't you think it is time to settle down? You might take rooms
somewhere. Lord Fitzroy knows of some capital ones in Sackville
Street; Algie Burgoyne had them."

"Well, no, thank you, Phillis: I don't think I shall go in for
rooms."

"Well, then, a house: you know you are so excessively rich, Harry,"
drawling out her words in imitation of his rather slow pronunciation.

"Oh, of course I shall take a house; but there is plenty of time for
that."

And when she pressed him somewhat eagerly to tell her in what
neighborhood he meant to live, he only shrugged his shoulders, and
remarked, carelessly, that he would have a look round at all sorts of
places by and by.

"But do you mean to take a house and live all alone?" asked Dulce.
"Won't you find it rather dull?"

"What's a fellow to do?" replied her cousin, enigmatically. "I suppose
Aunt Catherine will not undertake the care of me?--I am too big, as
you call it, for a houseful of women!"

"Well, yes; perhaps you are," she replied, contemplating him
thoughtfully. "We should not know quite what to do with you."

"I wish I could get rid of a few of my superfluous inches," he
remarked, dolorously; "for people seem to find me sadly in the way
sometimes."

But Dulce said, kindly,--

"Oh, no, Harry; we never find you in the way: do we, mammie? We should
be dreadfully dull without you now. I can hear you whistling a quarter
of a mile off, and it sounds so cheerful. If there were only a house
big enough for you next door, that would do nicely."

"Oh. I dare say I shall not be far off: shall I, Aunt Catherine?" for,
to his aunt's utter bewilderment, he had established a sort of
confidence between them, and expected her to understand all his vague
hints. "You will not s