‘Camminy, you must try to amuse yourself,’ he said briskly.  ’Anything you may be wanting at home shall be sent for.  I must have you here to make sure that I am acting under good advice.  You can take one of the keepers for an hour or two of shooting.  I may join you in the afternoon.  You will find occupation for your gun in the north covers.’

He wandered about the house, looking into several rooms, and only partially at rest when he discovered Caroline in one, engaged upon some of her aquarelle sketches.  He asked where the young Irishman was.

‘Are you in search of him?’ said she.  ’You like him, uncle?  He is out riding, they tell me.’

‘The youngster is used to south-western showers in that climate of his,’ Mr. Adister replied.  ’I dare say we could find the Jesuit in him somewhere.  There’s the seed.  His cousin Con O’Donnell has filled him with stuff about Ireland and England:  the man has no better to do than to train a parrot.  What do you think of him, my love?’

The judgement was not easily formed for expression.  ’He is not quite like what I remember of his brother Philip.  He talks much more, does he not?  He seems more Irish than his brother.  He is very strange.  His feelings are strong; he has not an idea of concealing them.  For a young man educated by the Jesuits, he is remarkably open.’

‘The Jesuits might be of service to me just now!’ Mr. Adister addressed his troubled soul, and spoke upon another conception of them:  ’How has he shown his feelings?’

Caroline answered quickly:  ’His love of his brother.  Anything that concerns his brother moves him; it is like a touch on a musical instrument.  Perhaps I should say a native one.’

‘Concerns his brother?’ Mr. Adister inquired, and his look requesting enlightenment told her she might speak.

‘Adiante,’ she said softly.  She coloured.

Her uncle mused awhile in a half-somnolent gloom.  ’He talks of this at this present day?’

’It is not dead to him.  He really appears to have hoped . . . he is extraordinary.  He had not heard before of her marriage.  I was a witness of the most singular scene this morning, at the piano.  He gathered it from what he had heard.  He was overwhelmed by it.  I could not exaggerate.  It was impossible to help being a little touched, though it was curious, very strange.’

Her uncle’s attentiveness incited her to describe the scene, and as it visibly relieved his melancholy, she did it with a few vivid indications of the quaint young Irishman’s manner of speech.  She concluded:  ’At last he begged to see a portrait of her husband.’

‘Not of her?’ said Mr. Adister abruptly.

‘No; only of her husband.’

‘Show him her portrait.’

A shade of surprise was on Caroline’s forehead.  ‘Shall I?’ She had a dim momentary thought that the sight of the beautiful face would not be good for Patrick.