‘Very well.’

‘You’re not looking quite so well, I’m afraid,’ remarked his father, with genuine solicitude in his tone.  ‘Haven’t been reading, have you?’

‘No.’

’No imprudences, mind.  I must stop that porridge regimen; it doesn’t suit you.  Ready, Edith?’ he shouted heartily at the foot of the stairs.

Mrs. Rossall came down, buttoning her gloves.

‘If I were you, Wilf,’ she said, ’I’d go off somewhere for the day.  The twins will only worry you.’

Wilfrid laughed.

‘I am going to eat unexampled chops at the “Waggoner” in Hilstead,’ he replied.

‘That’s right.  Good-bye, my dear boy.  I wish you’d get fatter.’

‘Pooh, I’m all right.’

The landau rolled away.  Wilfrid still loitered in the hall, a singular look of doubt on his face.  In a room above one of the twins was having a music lesson; a certain finger-exercise was being drummed with persistent endeavour at accuracy.

‘How can she bear that morning after morning?’ the young man murmured to himself.

He took his straw hat and went round to the stables.  Oberon was being groomed.  Wilfrid patted the horse’s sleek neck, and talked a little with the man.  At length he made up his mind to go and prepare for riding; Oberon would be ready for him in a few minutes.

In the porch Patty ran to meet him.

‘Truant!’ Wilfrid exclaimed.  ‘Have I caught you in the act of escape?’

‘I was going to look for you,’ said the child, putting her arm through his and swinging upon him.  ’We want to know if you’ll be back for lunch.’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘I and Minnie and Miss Hood.’

‘Oh, you are Patty, then, are you?’

This was an old form of joke.  The child shook her dark curls with a half-annoyed gesture, but still swung on her cousin as he moved into the house.  Wilfrid passed his arm about her playfully.

‘Can’t you make up your mind, Wilf?’ she asked.

‘Oh yes, my mind is quite made up,’ he replied, with a laugh.

‘And won’t you tell me?’

‘Tell you?  Ah, about lunch.  No, I shall not be back.’

‘You won’t?  Oh, I am sorry.’

‘Why are you sorry, indistinguishable little maiden?’ he asked, drawing out one of her curls between his fingers, and letting it spring back again into its circling beauty.

‘We thought it would be so nice, we four at lunch.’

’I am warned to avoid you.  The tone of conversation would try my weak head; I am not capable yet of intellectual effort.’

The little girl looked at him with puzzled eyes.

‘Well, it can’t be helped,’ she said.  ‘I must go back to my lessons.’

She ran off, and Wilfrid went up to his dressing-room.  When he came down, Oberon was pawing the gravel before the door.  He mounted and rode away.