p'll think something's wrong, Sir Richard, and be anxious
if you stay away."

The boy held out his arms. "All right then, Winter," he said.

Here Chaplin again gave that admonitory cough. Richard, his face
hardening to slight scorn, looked at him over the butler's shoulder.

"Oh! You need not be uneasy, Chaplin. When I say I'll do a thing, I
don't forget."

Which brief speech caused the butler to reflect, as he bore the boy
across the hall and up-stairs, that Sir Richard was coming to have an
uncommonly high manner about him, at times, considering his age.

An unwonted loudness of conversation filled the Chapel-Room. It was
filled also by the rose-red light of the sunset streaming in through
the curve of the oriel-window. This confused and dazzled Richard
slightly, entering upon it from the silence and sober clearness of the
stair-head. A shrill note of laughter.--Mr. Cathcart's voice saying, "I
felt it incumbent upon me to object, Lady Calmady. I spoke very plainly
to Fallowfeild."--Julius March's delicately refined tones, "I am afraid
spirituality is somewhat deficient in that case."--Then the high
flute-like notes of a child, rising clearly above the general murmur,
"_Ah! enfin--le voila, Maman. C'est bien lui, n'est-ce pas?_" And with
that, Richard was aware of a sudden hush falling upon the assembled
company. He was sensible every one watched him as Winter carried him
across the room and set him down in the long, low armchair near the
fireplace. Poor Dickie's self-consciousness, which had been so
agreeably in abeyance, returned upon him, and a red, not of the sunset,
dyed his face. But he carried his head proudly. He thought of Chifney
and the horses. He refused to be abashed.

And Ormiston, breaking the silence, called to him cheerily:--

"Hello, old chap, what have you been up to? You gave Mary and me the
slip."

"I know I did," the boy answered bravely. "How d'ye do, Mrs. Cathcart?"
as the latter nodded and smiled to him--a large, gentle, comfortable
lady, uncertain in outline, thanks to voluminous draperies of black
silk and black lace. "How d'ye do, sir?" this to Mr. Cathcart--a tall,
neatly-made man, but for a slight roundness of the shoulders. Seeing
him, there remained no doubt as to whence Mary inherited her large
mouth; but matter for thankfulness that she had avoided further
inheritance. For Mr. Cathcart was notably plain. Small eyes and snub
nose, long lower jaw, and gray forward-curled whisker