“But out in Norway merchants rank much more highly than with us. Besides, the Falcks are of a very old family.” “Well, really I never expected to hear such a radical as you speak up for old family and all that nonsense,” said James Horner. “But I see you are determined to befriend this fellow, so it’s no good my saying anything against it. I hope you may find him all you expect. For my part I consider him a most unpromising young man; there’s an aggressiveness about his face and bearing that I don’t like at all. A dangerous, headstrong sort of character, and not in the least fit for the position you have given him.” With which sweeping condemnation Mr. Horner left the room, and Roy, who had kept a politic silence throughout the scene, threw down his pen and went into a subdued fit of laughter. “You should see them together, father, it’s as good as a play,” he exclaimed. “Falck puts on his grand air and is crushingly polite the moment Cousin James puts in an appearance, and that nettles him and he becomes more and more vulgar and fussy, and so they go poking each other up worse and worse every minute.” “It’s very foolish of Falck,” said Mr. Boniface. “If he means to get on in life, he will have to learn the art of rising above such paltry annoyances as airs of patronage and manners that jar on him.” Meanwhile, down below in the shop, Frithiof had forgotten his last encounter with James Horner, and as he set things in order for the Saturday afternoon closing, his thoughts were far away. He sorted music and took down one portfolio after another mechanically, while all the time it seemed to him that he was wandering with Blanche through the sweet-scented pine woods, hearing her fresh, clear voice, looking into the lovely eyes which had stolen his heart. The instant two o’clock sounded the hour of his release, he snatched up his hat and hurried away; his dreams of the past had taken so strong a hold upon him that he felt he must try for at least one more sight of the face that haunted him so persistently. He had touched no food since early morning, but he could no more have eaten at that moment than have turned aside in some other direction. Feeling as though some power outside himself were drawing him onward, he followed with scarcely a thought of the actual way, until he found himself within sight of the Lancaster Gate House. A striped red and white awning had been erected over the steps, he caught sight of it through the trees, and his heart seemed to stand still. Hastily crossing the wide road leading to the church, he gained a better view of the pavement in front of Mr. Morgan’s house; dirty little street children with eager faces were clustered about the railings, and nurse-maids with perambulators flanked the red felt which made a pathway to the carriage standing before the door. He turned sick and giddy.