“Richard is very gay,” Mrs. Doris, whispered her brother.

“All will be right with him to-morrow,” he replied; for the game had been in his hands so long, so long had he been the God of the machine, that having once resolved to speak plainly and to act, he was to a certain extent secure, bad as the thing to mend might be.

“I notice he has rather a wild laugh—­I don’t exactly like his eyes,” said Mrs. Doria.

“You will see a change in him to-morrow,” the man of science remarked.

It was reserved for Mrs. Doria herself to experience that change.  In the middle of the dinner a telegraphic message from her son-in-law, worthy John Todhunter, reached the house, stating that Clare was alarmingly ill, bidding her come instantly.  She cast about for some one to accompany her, and fixed on Richard.  Before he would give his consent for Richard to go, Sir Austin desired to speak with him apart, and in that interview he said to his son:  “My dear Richard! it was my intention that we should come to an understanding together this night.  But the time is short—­ poor Helen cannot spare many minutes.  Let me then say that you deceived me, and that I forgive you.  We fix our seal on the past.  You will bring your wife to me when you return.”  And very cheerfully the baronet looked down on the generous future he thus founded.

“Will you have her at Raynham at once, sir?” said Richard.

“Yes, my son, when you bring her.”

“Are you mocking me, sir?”

“Pray, what do you mean?”

“I ask you to receive her at once.”

“Well! the delay cannot be long.  I do not apprehend that you will be kept from your happiness many days.”

“I think it will be some time, sir!” said Richard, sighing deeply.

“And what mental freak is this that can induce you to postpone it and play with your first duty?”

“What is my first duty, sir?”

“Since you are married, to be with your wife.”

“I have heard that from an old woman called Berry!” said Richard to himself, not intending irony.

“Will you receive her at once?” he asked resolutely.

The baronet was clouded by his son’s reception of his graciousness.  His grateful prospect had formerly been Richard’s marriage—­the culmination of his System.  Richard had destroyed his participation in that.  He now looked for a pretty scene in recompense:—­Richard leading up his wife to him, and both being welcomed by him paternally, and so held one ostentatious minute in his embrace.

He said:  “Before you return, I demur to receiving her.”

“Very well, sir,” replied his son, and stood as if he had spoken all.

“Really you tempt me to fancy you already regret your rash proceeding!” the baronet exclaimed; and the next moment it pained him he had uttered the words, Richard’s eyes were so sorrowfully fierce.  It pained him, but he divined in that look a history, and he could not refrain from glancing acutely and asking:  “Do you?”