‘I wish I could; but you see what happens when I go out pleasuring!’

’Well, you can take one element of mischief with you—­that imp, Maurice.’

‘Ye—­es.  Papa would like it, if you do.’

‘I should like you to come on worse terms.’

’Very well, then; and Sophy is safe; I had already asked Genevieve to come and read to her this afternoon.  If Gilbert can spare me, I will go.’

Gilbert did not want her, and begged Lucy not to think of staying indoors on his account.  He was presently left in solitary possession of the drawing-room, whereupon he rose, settled his brown locks at the glass, arranged his tie, brushed his cuffs, leisurely walked upstairs, and tapped at the door of the morning-room, meekly asking, ‘May I come in?’ with a cough at each end of the sentence.

‘Oh!  Gilbert!’ cried his anxious sister, starting up.  ’Are you come to see me?’ and she would have wheeled round her father’s arm-chair for him, but Genevieve was beforehand with her, and he sank into it, saying pathetically, ’Ah! thank you, Miss Durant; you are come to a perfect hospital.  Oh! this is too much,’ as she further gave him a footstool.  ‘Oh! no, thank you, Sophy,’ for she would have handed Genevieve her own pillow for his further support; ’this is delightful!’ reclining pathetically in his chair.  ’This is not like Traversham.’

‘Where they would not believe he was ill!’ said Sophy.

‘I hope he does not look so very ill,’ said Genevieve, cheerfully, but this rather hurt the feelings of both; the one said, ’Oh! but he is terribly pale,’ the other coughed, and said, ’Looks are deceitful.’

‘That is the very reason,’ said Genevieve.  ’You don’t look deceitful enough to be so ill—­so ill as Miss Sophie fears; now you are at home, and well cared for, you will soon be well.’

‘Care would have prevented it all,’ said Sophy.

‘And not brought me home!’ said Gilbert.  ’Home is home on any terms.  No one there had the least idea a fellow could ever be unwell or out of spirits!’

‘Ah! you must have been ill,’ cried his sister, ’you who never used to be miserable!’

Gilbert gave a sigh.  ‘They were such mere boys,’ he said.

‘Monsieur votre Precepteur?’ asked Genevieve.

‘Ah! he was otherwise occupied!’

‘There is some mystery beneath,’ said Genevieve, turning to Sophy, who exclaimed abruptly, ‘Oh! is he in love?’

‘Sophy goes to the point,’ said Gilbert, smiling, the picture of languid comfort; ’but I own there are suspicious circumstances.  He always has a photograph in his pocket, and Price has seen him looking at it.’

’Ah! depend upon it, Miss Sophy, it is all a romance of these young gentlemen,’ said Genevieve, turning to her with a droll provoking air of confidence; ‘ce pauvre Monsieur had the portrait of his sister!’

’Catch me carrying Sophy’s face in my waistcoat pocket, cried Gilbert, forgetting his languor.