verjoyed.

"Frank, my boy, you're heartily welcome home!" he said, holding out
his hand to him as became a British parent--"always welcome, but
particularly just now. Where did you come from? how did you come? have
you eaten anything this morning? it's close upon lunch, and we'll go
in directly; but, my dear boy, wait here a moment, if you're not
particularly hungry; I can't tell you how glad I am you're come. I'd
rather see you than a hundred pound!"

When Frank had thanked him, and returned his greetings, and answered
his questions (which the Squire had forgotten), and made his own
inquiries, to which Mr Wentworth replied only by a hasty nod, and an
"Oh yes, thank you, all well--all well," the two came to a momentary
pause: they had nothing particular to add about their happiness in
seeing each other; and as Frank wrote to his sisters pretty regularly,
there was nothing to tell. They were quite free to plunge at once, as
is to British relatives under the trying circumstances of a meeting a
blessed possibility, into the first great subject which happened to be
at hand.

"Have you heard anything about Gerald?" said Mr Wentworth, abruptly;
"perhaps you called there on your way from the station? Gerald has got
into a nice mess. He wrote to tell me about it, and I can't make head
nor tail of it. Do you think he's a little touched here?" and the
Squire tapped his own round forehead, with a troubled look: "there's
no other explanation possible that I can see: a good living, a nice
house, a wife that just suits him (and it's not everybody that would
suit Gerald), and a lot of fine children--and he talks to me of giving
up everything; as if a man could give up everything! It's all very
well talking of self-renunciation, and so forth; and if it meant
simply considering other people, and doing anything disagreeable for
anybody's sake, I don't know a man more likely than my son Gerald.
Your brother's a fine fellow, Frank--a noble sort of fellow, though
he has his crotchets," said the father, with a touch of involuntary
pathos; "but you don't mean to tell me that my son, a man like Gerald
Wentworth, has a mind to throw away his position, and give up all the
duties of his life? He can't do it, sir! I tell you it's impossible,
and I won't believe it." Mr Wentworth drew up his shirt-collar, and
kicked away a fallen branch with his foot, and looked insulted and
angry. It was a dereliction of which he would not suppose the
possibil