Richard had never been acquainted with any of them to inspire that emotion.  Indeed these urgent appeals to his fancy in feminine names at five o’clock in the morning slightly surprised him, though he was but half awake to the outer world.  By degrees he perceived that Ralph was changed.  Instead of the lusty boisterous boy, his rival in manly sciences, who spoke straightforwardly and acted up to his speech, here was an abashed and blush-persecuted youth, who sued piteously for a friendly ear wherein to pour the one idea possessing him.  Gradually, too, Richard apprehended that Ralph likewise was on the frontiers of the Realm of Mystery, perhaps further toward it than he himself was; and then, as by a sympathetic stroke, was revealed to him the wonderful beauty and depth of meaning in feminine names.  The theme appeared novel and delicious, fitted to the season and the hour.  But the hardship was, that Richard could choose none from the number; all were the same to him; he loved them all.

“Don’t you really prefer the ’Cl’s’?” said Ralph, persuasively.

“Not better than the names ending in ‘a’ and ‘y,’ Richard replied, wishing he could, for Ralph was evidently ahead of him.

“Come under these trees,” said Ralph.  And under the trees Ralph unbosomed.  His name was down for the army:  Eton was quitted for ever.  In a few months he would have to join his regiment, and before he left he must say goodbye to his friends....  Would Richard tell him Mrs. Forey’s address? he had heard she was somewhere by the sea.  Richard did not remember the address, but said he would willingly take charge of any letter and forward it.

Ralph dived his hand into his pocket.  “Here it is.  But don’t let anybody see it.”

“My aunt’s name is not Clare,” said Richard, perusing what was composed of the exterior formula.  “You’ve addressed it to Clare herself.”

That was plain to see.

“Emmeline Clementina Matilda Laura, Countess Blandish,” Richard continued in a low tone, transferring the names, and playing on the musical strings they were to him.  Then he said:  “Names of ladies!  How they sweeten their names!”

He fixed his eyes on Ralph.  If he discovered anything further he said nothing, but bade the good fellow good-bye, jumped into his boat, and pulled down the tide.  The moment Ralph was hidden by an abutment of the banks, Richard perused the address.  For the first time it struck him that his cousin Clare was a very charming creature:  he remembered the look of her eyes, and especially the last reproachful glance she gave him at parting.  What business had Ralph to write to her?  Did she not belong to Richard Feverel?  He read the words again and again:  Clare Doria Forey.  Why, Clare was the name he liked best—­nay, he loved it.  Doria, too—­she shared his own name with him.  Away went his heart, not at a canter now, at a gallop, as one who sights the quarry.  He felt too weak to pull.  Clare Doria Forey—­oh, perfect melody!  Sliding with the tide, he heard it fluting in the bosom of the hills.