“Oh, he has every virtue under the sun!  At any rate he ought to be fond of him, for I fancy the old man has toiled all his life to be able to leave his son a big fortune.”

“Has he no brothers or sisters?”

“Two sisters, I believe, older than himself; both married.”

There was another pause.  Katherine would not break it.  She felt peculiarly irritated against De Burgh.  His observations had greatly disturbed her.  She could not, however, tell him to go, and he stood there looking perfectly at ease.  This awkward silence was broken by the welcome appearance of Cecil, who burst into the room, exclaiming:  “Auntie, tea is quite ready!  There is beautiful chicken pie and buttered cakes, and such a beautiful cat!”

“What! for tea, Cis?” said Katherine, letting him catch her hand and try to drag her away.

“No—­o.  Why, what a silly you are!  Puss is asleep in an arm-chair.  Do come, auntie.  The lady said I was tell you that tea was quite ready.”

“Which means that the audience is over,” said De Burgh; “and I rather think you are not sorry.”  He smiled—­not a pleasant smile.  “Well, young man, did you never see me before?”—­to Cecil, who was staring at him in the deliberate, persistent way in which children gaze at objects which fascinate yet partly frighten them.

“I was thinking you were like—­” The little fellow paused.

“Like whom?”

Cis tightened his hold on his auntie’s hand, and still hesitated.

“Whom is Mr. De Burgh like?” asked Katherine, amused by the boy’s earnestness.

“Like the wicked uncle in the ‘Babes in the Wood.’  Auntie gave it to me.  Such a beautiful picture book!”

De Burgh laughed heartily and good-humoredly.  “I can tell you, my boy, you would not find me a bad sort of uncle if it were ever my good fortune to call you nephew.”

“But I have no uncle—­only auntie,” returned Cis.

“Ay, a very pearl of an auntie.  Try and be a good boy.  Above all, do what you are bid.  I never did what I was bid, and you see what I have come to.”

“I don’t think there is much the matter with you,” said Cis, eying him steadily.  Then, with a sudden change in the current of his thoughts, he cried, “Do come, auntie; the cakes will be quite cold.”

“I will keep you no longer from the banquet,” said De Burgh.  “I know you are wishing me at—­well, my probable destination; so good-by for the present.”  Then, to Cecil:  “Shall I come and see you at—­what is the name of the place?—­Sandbourne, and take you out for a sail in a boat—­a big boat?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

“Will you come with me, though I am like the wicked uncle?”

“Yes, if auntie may come too.”

“If she begs very hard she may.  Well, good-morning, Miss Liddell.  I’ll not forget Sandbourne, via Southwestern Railway.”  So saying, De Burgh shook hands and departed.