Mrs. Doria thought her thoughts.

“Has Austin written to you since you were in town?”

“Not an Aphorism!” returned Adrian.

“I must see Richard to-morrow morning,” Mrs. Doria ended the colloquy by saying.

The result of her interview with her nephew was, that Richard made no allusion to a departure on the Tuesday; and for many days afterward he appeared to have an absorbing business on his hands:  but what it was Adrian did not then learn, and his admiration of Mrs. Doria’s genius for management rose to a very high pitch.

On a morning in October they had an early visitor in the person of the Hon. Peter, whom they had not seen for a week or more.

“Gentlemen,” he said, flourishing his cane in his most affable manner, “I’ve come to propose to you to join us in a little dinner-party at Richmond.  Nobody’s in town, you know.  London’s as dead as a stock-fish.  Nothing but the scrapings to offer you.  But the weather’s fine:  I flatter myself you’ll find the company agreeable, What says my friend Feverel?”

Richard begged to be excused.

“No, no:  positively you must come,” said the Hon. Peter.  “I’ve had some trouble to get them together to relieve the dulness of your incarceration.  Richmond’s within the rules of your prison.  You can be back by night.  Moonlight on the water—­lovely woman.  We’ve engaged a city-barge to pull us back.  Eight oars—­I’m not sure it isn’t sixteen.  Come—­the word!”

Adrian was for going.  Richard said he had an appointment with Ripton.

“You’re in for another rick, you two,” said Adrian.  “Arrange that we go.  You haven’t seen the cockney’s Paradise.  Abjure Blazes, and taste of peace, my son.”

After some persuasion, Richard yawned wearily, and got up, and threw aside the care that was on him, saying, “Very well.  Just as you like.  We’ll take old Rip with us.”

Adrian consulted Brayder’s eye at this.  The Hon. Peter briskly declared he should be delighted to have Feverel’s friend, and offered to take them all down in his drag.

“If you don’t get a match on to swim there with the tide—­eh, Feverel, my boy?”

Richard replied that he had given up that sort of thing, at which Brayder communicated a queer glance to Adrian, and applauded the youth.

Richmond was under a still October sun.  The pleasant landscape, bathed in Autumn, stretched from the foot of the hill to a red horizon haze.  The day was like none that Richard vividly remembered.  It touched no link in the chain of his recollection.  It was quiet, and belonged to the spirit of the season.

Adrian had divined the character of the scrapings they were to meet.  Brayder introduced them to one or two of the men, hastily and in rather an undervoice, as a thing to get over.  They made their bow to the first knot of ladies they encountered.  Propriety was observed strictly, even to severity.  The general talk was of the weather.  Here and there a lady would seize a button-hole or any little bit of the habiliments, of the man she was addressing; and if it came to her to chide him, she did it with more than a forefinger.  This, however, was only here and there, and a privilege of intimacy.