Hubert held out his hand to him with a smile that children still found winning. "Come in, little man," he said. "I want to see you too." Dick marched in at once, still, however, keeping an eye fixed upon his mother. There was something almost like fear in the look; and it was noticeable that neither the General nor Enid spoke to invite him into the room. "You may come in," Florence said at last, very coldly--almost as one might speak to a grown person whom one had strong reason to dislike--"but you cannot stay more than five minutes. You are not wanted here." "Oh, come, I think we all want him!" said Hubert good-humoredly. "I wish to make my nephew's acquaintance, at any rate. I have something for him in my portmanteau up-stairs." Florence made a sudden and, as it seemed, involuntary gesture, and knocked down a vase of flowers on the table at her right hand. There was some confusion in consequence, as the flowers had to be gathered up and the fragments of the broken vase collected, so that Hubert had little opportunity of talking to his nephew. And, as soon as "the fuss," as he mentally called it, was over, Mrs. Vane said, in her coldest, slowest voice-- "Now, Dick, you may go to the nursery. Say good-night." "Good-night?" questioned Hubert. "Why, he does not go to bed at this hour in the afternoon, does he?" "He goes at half-past six or seven," replied Florence. "Pray do not interfere with nursery regulations, my dear Hubert." "I shall see more of him to-morrow, I suppose," said Hubert, smiling at the child's wistful face as he went from one to another to say good-night. Little Dick's eyes lit up at once, but the light in them died out when, on tip-toe, as if afraid of disturbing her, he approached his mother. Hubert thought that there was a touch of something odd in the manner of everyone present, and was glad to see that Enid's kisses and whispered words of endearment brought a flush of pleasure to the child's delicate cheeks before he turned away. The General then took possession of the visitor and marched him off to look at the stables. The old man had recovered all his old cheeriness and heartiness of manner; there was a little more feebleness in his gait than there used to be, and he walked with a stick, but Hubert was pleased to see that his eyes were bright, and to find him loquaciously inclined. The shock of Sydney's death had not seriously affected him, and Hubert was conscious of a thrill of relief at the sight of his evident health and happiness. Considering that Mr. Lepel believed himself to have closed his heart against the past, he was singularly open to attacks of painful memory. He was annoyed by his own readiness to be hurt, and almost wished that he had not come to Beechfield.