get quite amiable all
at once, though his heart was lightening in his bosom, "it means that
I am an old fool, Dick, and that you are a young one."

"No, father,--not really,--does it?" And Dick beamed still more.

"And it means that you are not to plague me any more about the City.
But there! though you have behaved so badly to me, Dick, I forgive
you. Sir Harry and I have been talking over things, and if you will
work hard for your degree your mother shall ask the girl down here,
and we will see about it, and that is all I can say at present. And so
we may as well shake hands upon it too."

But Dick did more than that; he threw his arm over his father's
shoulder with a movement that was almost caressing.

"Thank you, pater; you are a brick and no mistake!" was all the
undemonstrative Briton's tongue could say. But Mr. Mayne, as he looked
in his boy's face and felt that pressure on his shoulder, thought them
sufficiently eloquent.

"There! get along with you, and have it out with your mother," he
growled. But, in spite of his surly tone, Mr. Mayne felt an amount of
relief that astonished himself: to see Dick's face happy again, to
have no cloud between them, to know that no domestic discord would
harass his soul and render gruel necessary to his well-being, was
restoring him to his old self again. Sir Harry longed to throw back
his head and indulge in a good laugh as he witnessed this little scene
of reconciliation.

Mrs. Mayne, who was sitting somewhat sadly by her own fireside,
thinking over that day's discomfort, was quite taken aback by hearing
Dick coming upstairs in his old way--three steps at a time--and then
bursting into the room after a hasty knock at the door.

"Mother," he cried, breathlessly, "Sir Harry Challoner is in the
library--and pater wants you to come down and give them some tea--and
Sir Henry is going to stop to dinner--and the woodcock is to be
cooked--and you are to get the best room ready. But first of all--like
the dear, darling mother you are--you are to sit down and write a
letter to Nan."

But the letter was not written then; for how could Bessie keep her
husband and his guest waiting for their tea after such an urgent
message? And had she not first of all to listen to Dick's incoherent
story, which she heard better from Sir Harry afterwards, who took
great pains to explain it to the poor bewildered woman?

Mr. Mayne thought he had never seen Bessie look so handsome since the
day