’I think she does, colonel.  Marriage ’ll cure the fellow.  Nevil will slough his craze.  Off! old coat.  Cissy will drive him in strings.  “My wife!” I hear him.’  Mr. Romfrey laughed quietly.  ’It’s all “my country,” now.  The dog’ll be uxorious.  He wants fixing; nothing worse.’

‘How he goes on about Shrapnel!’

‘I shouldn’t think much of him if he didn’t.’

‘You’re one in a thousand, Romfrey.  I object to seeing a man worshipped.’

‘It’s Nevil’s green-sickness, and Shrapnel’s the god of it.’

’I trust to heaven you’re right.  It seems to me young fellows ought to be out of it earlier.’

‘They generally are.’  Mr. Romfrey named some of the processes by which they are relieved of brain-flightiness, adding philosophically, ’This way or that.’

His quick ear caught a sound of hoofs cantering down the avenue on the
Northern front of the house.

He consulted his watch.  ’Ten minutes to eight.  Say a quarter-past for dinner.  They’re here, colonel.’

Mr. Romfrey met Nevil returning from the stables.  Cecilia had disappeared.

‘Had a good day?’ said Mr. Romfrey.

Beauchamp replied:  ‘I’ll tell you of it after dinner,’ and passed by him.

Mr. Romfrey edged round to Colonel Halkett, conjecturing in his mind:  They have not hit it; as he remarked:  ’Breakfast and luncheon have been omitted in this day’s fare,’ which appeared to the colonel a confirmation of his worst fears, or rather the extinction of his last spark of hope.

He knocked at his daughter’s door in going upstairs to dress.

Cecilia presented herself and kissed him.

‘Well?’ said he.

‘By-and-by, papa,’ she answered.  ’I have a headache.  Beg Mr. Romfrey to excuse me.’

‘No news for me?’

She had no news.

Mrs. Culling was with her.  The colonel stepped on mystified to his room.

When the door had closed Cecilia turned to Rosamund and burst into tears.  Rosamund felt that it must be something grave indeed for the proud young lady so to betray a troubled spirit.

‘He is ill—­Dr. Shrapnel is very ill,’ Cecilia responded to one or two subdued inquiries in as clear a voice as she could command.

‘Where have you heard of him?’ Rosamund asked.

‘We have been there.’

‘Bevisham? to Bevisham?’ Rosamund was considering the opinion Mr. Romfrey would form of the matter from the point of view of his horses.

‘It was Nevil’s wish,’ said Cecilia.

‘Yes? and you went with him,’ Rosamund encouraged her to proceed, gladdened at hearing her speak of Nevil by that name; ’you have not been on the downs at all?’