“You must go and see him, dear Larry,” says Cousin Isabel, “he’s in the study.”

“And Christian?  Though, of course, I met her this morning—­” says Larry.

Christian, poor child, went out for a little walk with the dogs just now.  Christian (poor child) had felt that wretched business this morning so terribly.  The wretched business was gone into, thoroughly and exhaustively, and yet Larry felt that across one corner of it there was a fold of curtain drawn.  He said he would go and see Cousin Dick.  There was always a chance that Christian, also, might be in the study.  The axiom that “If a man want a thing he mus’ have it,” should, in Larry’s case, have the corollary that he must have it at once.

The Major was standing by the chimney piece in the study, warming one foot after the other at the fire that Evans had just replenished.  Larry met the scald-crow at the door, and Evans passed him “as if,” thought Larry, disgustedly, “he had been seeing me every day for a year!  The old beast always hated me!” Larry did not like being hated.

Cousin Dick’s greeting was more like old times.  Dick was one of those people whose wrath has a tendency to intermit and get cold, even to perish, temporarily, from forgetfulness.  On the other hand, in compensation, perhaps, for this failing, it was a fire easily rekindled.  He was still shaking Larry’s hand, and looking him up and down, affectionately, and withal, with the inevitable patronage of a long-legged man for one from whom Nature has withheld similar advantages, when Larry discovered the large presence of Dr. Mangan uplifting itself from the chair facing Cousin Dick’s, by the fire.  (But Christian was not there.  He resigned himself.) There was no want of warmth in the Big Doctor’s reception.  He was quite aware of this himself, and was artist enough to know how useful an asset was the fact that he was genuinely fond of Larry.  He had indeed proposed to exhibit his affection in pleasing contrast to the coolness of Larry’s Protestant relatives, and that the Major had forgotten the role assigned to him, was a little disappointing.  “But wait awhile!” thought the Big Doctor, who, among his other elephantine qualities, possessed that of patience.

The Major seated himself in front of the fire, and Larry pulled up a chair, wondering in his heart what these old boys wanted with a fire this lovely afternoon, and delivered himself to the old boys and to conversation.  This, naturally, set with a single movement towards the event of the morning.  “A real likely little mare, and shaping well, I’m told,” says Dick, “and by the bye, Larry, that’s a dev’lish nice horse of yours that Christian came back on.  Where did you get him?”

These hunting men were incorrigible, the Doctor thought, seeing the Carmody question in danger of being side-tracked.

“Things have come to a funny way in this country,” he observed, “when a fellow will deliberately chance killing a young lady, rather than let her ride over his land—­and she having a right to ride over it into the bargain!”