“How far is the sea from the house?”

“It’s about half a mile to the top of the cliff, and a precious long climb down to the water; but going round by Swanage—­which is about three miles—­you can drive down close to the sea, for there are no cliffs there.”

There was little more said during the drive.  From time to time the man pointed out the various villages and country seats, and Ralph wondered to himself how he should manage to pass the next three weeks.  It seemed that there would be nothing to do and no one to talk to.  He had always been accustomed to the companionship of lots of boys of his own age, and during the holidays there was plenty of sailing and fishing, so that time had never hung on his hands; the present prospect therefore almost appalled him.  However, he had promised his mother that he would try to make the best of things; and he tried to assure himself that after all three weeks or a month would be over at last.  After an hour and a half’s drive they passed through a lodge gate into a park, and in a few minutes drew up at the entrance to Penfold Hall.  An old servant came out.

“Will you come with me into the library, sir?  Mr. Penfold is expecting you.  Your box will be taken up into your room.”

Ralph felt extremely uncomfortable as he followed his conductor across a noble hall, floored with dark polished oak, and paneled with the same material.  A door opened, and a servant announced “Master Conway.”  A gentleman rose from his chair and held out his hand.

“I am glad to see you, Ralph Conway; and I hope your journey has been a pretty comfortable one.  It is very good of you to come such a long distance to pay me a visit.”

“Mother wanted me to, sir,” Ralph said honestly.  “I don’t think—­” and he stopped.

“You don’t think you would have come of your own accord, Ralph?  No, that is natural enough, my boy.  At your, age I am sure I should not have cared to give up my holidays and spend them in a quiet house among strangers.  However, I wanted to see you, and I am very glad you have come.  I am an old friend of your mother’s, you know, and so desired to make the acquaintance of her son.  I think you are like her,” he said, putting his hand on Ralph’s shoulder and taking him to the window and looking steadily at him.

“Other people have said so, sir; but I am sure I can’t [illegible words] be like her a bit.  Mother is so pretty, and I am sure I am not the least bit in the world; and I don’t think it’s nice for a boy to be like a woman.”

This was rather a sore point with Ralph, who had a smooth soft face with large eyes and long eyelashes, and who had, in consequence, been nicknamed “Sally” by his schoolfellows.  The name had stuck to him in spite of several desperate fights, and the fact that in point of strength and activity he was fully a match for any boy of his own age; but as there was nothing like derision conveyed by it, and it was indeed a term of affection rather, than of contempt, Ralph had at last ceased to struggle against it.  But he longed for the time when the sprouting of whiskers would obliterate the obnoxious smoothness of his face.  Mr. Penfold had smiled at his remark.