What was generally regarded as Dick’s idleness, and, by the more rigid moralists, as his worthlessness, was a source of some anxiety and much disappointment to that distinguished man, his father.  From the doctor’s standpoint a life given to sport meant a life wasted; and, gifted man of science that he was, it puzzled him completely that a son of his should have no ability as a student.  Withal, he had never brought himself to show any harshness to Dick; for, “wild” as the young man undoubtedly had been, he was a lovable fellow, and for the doctor his fair face was a reflection of the face of the woman Dick had never really known; of the mother he had lost while still a child; the wife whose loss had withdrawn Dr. Vaughan from the world of successful men and women and prematurely whitened his hair and lined his lofty brow.

Yet in one respect the doctor had shown a certain sternness.  He had told his son, with some emphasis, that, until he accomplished some creditable work in the world, he must never expect one penny more than his present allowance of L150 a year.  There were good horses and dogs at Upcroft, however, and a very comfortable home.  The farmers’ sons of the district, like their social superiors, mostly liked Dick Vaughan well.  He need never lack a companion in his sporting enterprises, and so far had never felt very urgently the need of money.  Indeed, the bulk of his allowance was wasted during the trips he made to town after quarter-days.  Money was not very necessary to him at Upcroft, where most people were quite content to “put it down to the Doctor,” and all were ready to oblige “young Mr. Vaughan.”

And then had come Betty Murdoch, and a certain all-round modification of Dick Vaughan’s outlook upon life.

It happened that one reason why Betty had no other companion than Jan on the day of her accident was the fact that the Master had an appointment at Upcroft that morning with Dick.  The Master was very good-natured in his talk with Dick, but he was also quite firm and straightforward.  Dick rather shamefacedly pleaded guilty to having paid pointed attentions to Betty, and admitted that he was in love with her.

“Well, there’s nothing to be ashamed of in that, old chap.  I’m in love with her myself, if you come to that,” said the Master, with a smile.  “If you’d said you meant nothing and were not in love with her, I—­well, I should be taking a rather different tone, perhaps.  But you are, and I knew it.”

Dick’s characteristic smile, the sunny, affectionate smile that won him friends wherever he went and had given him a champion even in the tutor he ducked, broke momentarily through the rueful expression of his face, as he said:  “Oh, there’s no sort of doubt about that, sir.”

“Exactly.  Well, now, my friend, what I have to point out to you is this:  Betty is not only very dear to me; she is also my heir and my ward.  I’m speaking to you about it earlier than some men might have spoken, because I don’t want to cure heartaches—­I want to prevent ’em.  I’m pretty certain there’s no harm done as yet.”