But his countenance fell when, as the train slowed into the railway station, he perceived beckoning to him from the windows, not two Fallodens, but four!

“What has mother been about?” He stood aghast.  For there were not only Lady Laura and Nelly, but Trix, a child of eleven, and Roger, the Winchester boy of fourteen, who was still at home after an attack of measles.

They beamed at him as they descended.  The children were quite aware they were superfluous, and fell upon him with glee.

“You don’t want us, Duggy, we know!  But we made mother bring us.”

“Mother, really you ought to have given me notice!” said her reproachful son.  “What am I to do with these brats?”

But the brats hung upon him, and his mother, “fat, fair and forty,” smiled propitiatingly.

“Oh, my dear Duggy, never mind.  They amuse themselves.  They’ve promised to be good.  And they get into mischief in London, directly my back’s turned.  How nice you look in flannels, dear!  Are you going to row this afternoon?”

“Well, considering you know that my schools are coming on in a fortnight—­” said Falloden, exasperated.

“It’s so annoying of them!” said Lady Laura, sighing.  “I wanted to bring Nelly up for two or three weeks.  We could have got a house.  But your father wouldn’t hear of it.”

“I should rather think not!  Mother, do you want me to get a decent degree, or do you not?”

“But of course you’re sure to,” said Lady Laura with provoking optimism, hanging on his arm.  “And now give us some tea, for we’re all ravenous!  And what about that girl, Lady Constance?”

“She can’t come.  Her aunt has made another engagement for her.  You’ll meet her at the boats.”

Lady Laura looked relieved.

“Well then, we can go straight to our tea.  But of course I wrote.  I always do what you tell me, Duggy.  Come along, children!”

“Trix and I got a packet of Banbury cakes at Didcot,” reported Roger, in triumph, showing a greasy paper.  “But we’ve eat ’em all.”

“Little pigs!” said Falloden, surveying them.  “And now I suppose you’re going to gorge again?”

“We shall disgrace you!” shouted both the children joyously—­“we knew we should!”

But Falloden hunted them all into a capacious fly, and they drove off to Marmion, where a room had been borrowed for the tea-party.  Falloden sat on the box with folded arms and a sombre countenance.  Why on earth had his mother brought the children?  It was revolting to have to appear on the barge with such a troop.  And all his time would be taken up with looking after them—­time which he wanted for quite other things.

However, he was in for it.  At Marmion he led the party through two quads and innumerable passages, till he pointed to a dark staircase up which they climbed, each member of the family—­except the guide—­talking at the top of their voices.  On the third floor, Falloden paused and herded them into the room of a shy second-year man, very glad to do such a “blood” as Falloden a kindness, and help entertain his relations.