emony."

Can one never escape from one's relatives? Richard ejaculated inwardly.

Without a doubt those people were Mrs. Doria, Clare, and Adrian. He had
them under his eyes.

Clare, peeping up from her constitutional dose to make sure no man was
near to see the possible consequence of it, was the first to perceive
him. Her hand dropped.

"Now, pray, drink, and do not fuss!" said Mrs. Doria.

"Mama!" Clare gasped.

Richard came forward and capitulated honourably, since retreat was
out of the question. Mrs. Doria swam to meet him: "My own boy! My dear
Richard!" profuse of exclamations. Clare shyly greeted him. Adrian kept
in the background.

"Why, we were coming for you to-day, Richard," said Mrs. Doria, smiling
effusion; and rattled on, "We want another cavalier. This is delightful!
My dear nephew! You have grown from a boy to a man. And there's down
on his lip! And what brings you here at such an hour in the morning?
Poetry, I suppose! Here, take my arm, child.--Clare! finish that mug and
thank your cousin for sparing you the third. I always bring her, when we
are by a chalybeate, to take the waters before breakfast. We have to get
up at unearthly hours. Think, my dear boy! Mothers are sacrifices! And
so you've been alone a fortnight with your agreeable uncle! A charming
time of it you must have had! Poor Hippias! what may be his last
nostrum?"

"Nephew!" Adrian stretched his head round to the couple. "Doses of
nephew taken morning and night fourteen days! And he guarantees that it
shall destroy an iron constitution in a month."

Richard mechanically shook Adrian's hand as he spoke.

"Quite well, Ricky?"

"Yes: well enough," Richard answered.

"Well?" resumed his vigorous aunt, walking on with him, while Clare and
Adrian followed. "I really never saw you looking so handsome. There's
something about your face--look at me--you needn't blush. You've
grown to an Apollo. That blue buttoned-up frock coat becomes you
admirably--and those gloves, and that easy neck-tie. Your style is
irreproachable, quite a style of your own! And nothing eccentric. You
have the instinct of dress. Dress shows blood, my dear boy, as much as
anything else. Boy!--you see, I can't forget old habits. You were a boy
when I left, and now!--Do you see any change in him, Clare?" she turned
half round to her daughter.

"Richard is looking very well, mama," said Clare, glancing at him under
her eyelids.

"I wish I could say the same of