While the three sisters sat mingling their sorrows and alarms, their young brother was making his way to the house.  As he knocked at the door he heard his name pronounced behind him, and had no difficulty in recognizing the worthy brewer.

’What, Van, my boy! how are you?  Quite a foreigner!  By George, what a hat!’

Mr. Andrew bounced back two or three steps to regard the dusky sombrero.

‘How do you do, sir?’ said Evan.

‘Sir to you!’ Mr. Andrew briskly replied.  ’Don’t they teach you to give your fist in Portugal, eh?  I’ll “sir” you.  Wait till I’m Sir Andrew, and then “sir” away.  You do speak English still, Van, eh?  Quite jolly, my boy?’

Mr. Andrew rubbed his hands to express that state in himself.  Suddenly he stopped, blinked queerly at Evan, grew pensive, and said, ’Bless my soul!  I forgot.’

The door opened, Mr. Andrew took Evan’s arm, murmured a ‘hush!’ and trod gently along the passage to his library.

‘We’re safe here,’ he said.  ’There—­there’s something the matter up-stairs.  The women are upset about something.  Harriet—­’ Mr. Andrew hesitated, and branched off:  ’You ’ve heard we ‘ve got a new baby?’

Evan congratulated him; but another inquiry was in Mr. Andrew’s aspect, and Evan’s calm, sad manner answered it.

’Yes,’—­Mr. Andrew shook his head dolefully—­’a splendid little chap! a rare little chap! a we can’t help these things, Van!  They will happen.  Sit down, my boy.’

Mr. Andrew again interrogated Evan with his eyes.

‘My father is dead,’ said Evan.

‘Yes!’ Mr. Andrew nodded, and glanced quickly at the ceiling, as if to make sure that none listened overhead.  ’My parliamentary duties will soon be over for the season,’ he added, aloud; pursuing, in an under-breath: 

‘Going down to-night, Van?’

‘He is to be buried to-morrow,’ said Evan.

’Then, of course, you go.  Yes:  quite right.  Love your father and mother! always love your father and mother!  Old Tom and I never knew ours.  Tom’s quite well-same as ever.  I’ll,’ he rang the bell, ’have my chop in here with you.  You must try and eat a bit, Van.  Here we are, and there we go.  Old Tom’s wandering for one of his weeks.  You’ll see him some day.  He ain’t like me.  No dinner to-day, I suppose, Charles?’

This was addressed to the footman.  He announced: 

‘Dinner to-day at half-past six, as usual, sir,’ bowed, and retired.

Mr. Andrew pored on the floor, and rubbed his hair back on his head.  ’An odd world!’ was his remark.

Evan lifted up his face to sigh:  ’I ‘m almost sick of it!’

‘Damn appearances!’ cried Mr. Andrew, jumping on his legs.

The action cooled him.

’I ‘m sorry I swore,’ he said.  ’Bad habit!  The Major’s here—­you know that?’ and he assumed the Major’s voice, and strutted in imitation of the stalwart marine.  ’Major—­a—­Strike! of the Royal Marines! returned from China! covered with glory!—­a hero, Van!  We can’t expect him to be much of a mourner.  And we shan’t have him to dine with us to-day—­that’s something.’  He sank his voice:  ’I hope the widow ‘ll bear it.’