"Oh! Because one wants to see some one--some one new, especially after being in a sick-room." "You've been sitting up late." His tone was accusing. It seemed to him that somehow they were already intimate. "Only till three o'clock, and I slept later this morning. How changeable the sun is to-day!" She moved her chair, and he saw her in profile. Her hands were on her lap. She coaxed a foot stool into position with her toes, and placed her feet on it. "You look just like a picture in this week's 'Illustrated London News'--I mean in general pose," he exclaimed. "Do I? How nice that sounds! What is it?" "Whistler's 'Portrait of his Mother.' But I hope you don't think I think you look old." "How old do I look?" She turned her head slightly towards him. "About twenty-three, only I imagine you're much younger." Although she did not reply, she made no pretence of being annoyed, nor did Richard tax himself with a _gaucherie_. "It took me years to like Whistler's pictures," she said; and in response to Richard's surprised question she was beginning to explain that a large part of her life had been passed in the companionship of works of graphic art, when a slippered step was heard in the hall and some one fumbled with the door-handle. Mr. Aked entered. "Uncle! You wicked old man!" She sprang up, flushed, and her eyes sparkled angrily. "Whatever did you get up for? It's enough to kill you." "Calm yourself, my child. I got up because I didn't want to stay in bed,--exactly that." Mr. Aked paused to take breath and sank into a chair. "Larch, I heard your voice in the passage. Upon my word, I quite forgot you yesterday. I suppose Adeline's been telling you I'm seriously ill, eh? Ah! I've had many a worse attack than this. Put that antimacassar over my shoulders, child." He had given Richard a hot, limp hand, on which the veins formed soft ridges in the smooth, brittle skin. His grey hair was disarranged, and he wore a dirty, torn dressing-gown. His face had lost its customary alert expression; but his sunk, shining eyes glanced with mysterious restlessness first at Richard, then at Adeline, who, uttering no further word, covered him well and put the hassock under his feet.