cheerfulness, and had carried himself much as usual; but Mr. Mayne had
been glum, decidedly glum, and Mrs. Mayne had found it difficult to
adjust the balance of her sympathy between Dick's voluble quicksilver
on the one hand, and her husband's dead weight of ill humor on the
other.

The truth was, Mr. Mayne's sharp eyes had discerned from the first
moment of his son's entrance into the house that there was no change
in his purpose.

To an outsider, Dick's behavior to his father was as nice as possible.
He still kept up his old jokes, rallying him on his matutinal
activity, and saying a word about the "early worm," "so bad for the
worm, poor beggar," observed Dick. And he sauntered after him into the
poultry-yard, and had a great deal to say about some Spanish fowls
that had been lately imported into Longmead and that were great
sources of pride to Mr. Mayne.

Dick paid a great deal of dutiful attention to his father's hobbies:
he put on his thickest boots every day after luncheon, that his father
might enjoy the long walks in which he delighted. Dick used to sally
forth whistling to his dogs when they went down Sandy Lane; he was
careful to pause where the four roads met, that Mr. Mayne might enjoy
his favorite view. In all these things Dick's behavior was perfect.
Nevertheless, on their return from one of these walks they each had a
secret grievance to pour into Mrs. Mayne's ear.

Dick's turn would come first.

"Mother," he would say, as he lounged into the room where she sat
knitting by the firelight and thinking of her boy--for just now she
was heart and soul on Dick's side--and full of yearning for the sweet
girl whom he wanted for his wife, "I don't know how long this sort of
thing is going on, but I don't think I can put up with it much
longer."

"Have you not had a nice walk with your father?" she asked,
anxiously.

"Oh, yes; the walk was well enough. We had some trouble with Vigo,
though, for he startled a pheasant in Lord Fitzroy's preserve, and
then he bolted after a hare. I had quite a difficulty in getting him
to heel."

"These walks do your father so much good, Dick."

"That is what you always say; but I do not think I can stand many more
of them. He will talk of everything but the one subject, and that he
avoids like poison. I shall have to bring him to book directly, and
then there will be no end of a row. It is not the row I mind,"
continued Dick, rather ruefully; "but I hate putting him out