Into Nicky’s generous young heart rushed a flood of sympathy on the instant.  “It must have been rotten for you,” he said eagerly.  “I know the old Parson’s always saying how splendid you’ve been about this place and all that; you mustn’t think I don’t realise.”

Ishmael, aware that he had not really wished his flights to be wider, that his nature had been satisfied, as far as satisfaction lay in his power, by Cloom, by the soil which was the fabric of life to him, felt he was obtaining sympathy and approbation on false pretences—­indeed, he had deliberately angled for them.  They were too sweet to refuse, however come by.  Nicky, the young and splendid, whom he loved so dearly in spite of—­or could it be because of?—­his elusiveness, did not so often warm his heart that he could spurn this.  He crossed over to where Nicky sat on the edge of the table and allowed himself one of his rare caresses, slipping his arm about the boy’s shoulders.  “We’ll see, Nicky!” he said.

At that moment there came a crash against the door, and it burst open to admit the two little girls, Vassilissa and Ruth.  Vassilissa, always called Lissa, to avoid confusion when her aunt came to stay, was a slim, vivid-looking child, not pretty, but with a face that changed with every emotion and a pair of lovely grey eyes.  Ruth was simpler, sweeter, more stolid; a bundle of fat and a mane of brown hair chiefly represented her personality at present.  Lissa was twelve, and looked more, but Ruth seemed younger than her eleven years by reason of her shyness in company and her slow speech.  Ishmael privately thought Lissa a very remarkable child, but something in him, some touch of the woman, made him in his heart of hearts love better the quiet little Ruth, who was apt to be dismissed as “stodgy.”  He frowned now as they both came tumbling in—­Lissa with the sure bounds with which she seemed to take the world, Ruth with her usual heaviness.  This room, the little one over the porch that had been Nicky’s bedroom in his boyhood, was now supposed to be Ishmael’s business room, and as such inviolate.

“Nicky!  Nicky!” cried Lissa.  “How late you are!  And you know you promised for twelve o’clock, and we’ve been waiting for ages and ages!”

“Promised what?” asked Nicky.

“Oh, Nicky ...!” on a wail of disgust; “you don’t mean to say you’ve forgotten!  Why, only yesterday you promised that to-day if it was fine you’d take us out in your tandem.  You know you did!”

“Oh, Lord!  Well, I can’t, anyway.  I’ve got an engagement.”

“Nicky!” Ruth joined in the wail, but it was Lissa who passed rapidly to passion, her face crimson and her eyes full of tears of rage.

“Then you’re a pig, that’s what you are—­a perfect pig, and I hate you!  You never do what you say you will now, and I think it’s very caddish of you.  It’s all that beastly Oxford; you’ve never been the same since you went there.  Mother says so too.  She says it’s made you a conceited young puppy; I heard her!”