“Really,” cried Mr. Lashmar, half-distraught, “I must beg you to let me get this work done in quietness.  By some extraordinary error—­”

A knock sounded at the door, followed by a man’s voice.

“May I come in?”

“There you are!” Mrs. Lashmar exclaimed.  “It’s Dyce himself.  Come in!  Come in!  Why, who could have thought you would get here so early!”

“I chose the early train for the sake of coolness,” answered Dyce, who shook hands with his parents.  “The weather is simply tropical.  And two days ago we were shivering.  What is there to drink, mother?”

Mrs. Lashmar took her son to the dining-room, and, whilst he was refreshing himself, talked of the career before him.  Her sanguine mind saw him already at Westminster, and on the way to high distinction.

“There’s just one thing I’m anxious about,” she said, sinking her voice.  “You know the state of your father’s affairs.  It happens most unfortunately, just when a little help would be so important to you.  For years I have foreseen it, Dyce.  Again and again I have urged prudence; but you know your father, the most generous of men, but a mere child in matters of business.  I feared; but it was only the other day that I discovered the real state of things.  I shouldn’t be at all surprised, Dyce, if some day we have to look to you for succour.”

“Don’t worry,” answered her son.  “Things’ll come right, I think.  Just go on as prudently as you can, for the present.  Is father really in a hobble?”

“My dear, he doesn’t know where to turn for a five-pound note!”

Dyce was sincerely troubled.  He seldom thought of his parents; none the less they represented his only true affection, and he became uncomfortable at the prospect of disaster befalling their latter years.

“Well, well, don’t bother about it, more than you can help.  Things are going pretty well with me, I fancy.”

“So I supposed, Dyce.  But your father is afraid—­you know how he looks on the dark side of everything—­lest you should be incurring liabilities.  I have told him that that was never your habit.”

“Of course not,” said Dyce, confidently.  “You may be sure that I haven’t taken such serious steps without seeing my way clear before me.”

“I knew it!  I have always had the fullest faith in you.  And, Dyce, how you are improving in looks!  You must go to a photographer again—­”

“I’ve just been sitting at Hollingford.  The local people wanted it, you know.  But I’ll send you one from London presently.”

“And you assure me that there is no money difficulty?” asked Mrs. Lashmar, with inquisitive eyes.

“None whatever.  The fact of the matter is that I am standing to please Lady Ogram, and of course—­” He waved an explanatory hand.  “Things are not finally arranged yet, but all will be smooth.”

His smile made dignified deprecation of undue insistence on trivial detail.