“Thomson has done all the work connected with our joint trusteeship so admirably hitherto that there has been no need for my services. But if, while he is ill, you should find yourself in want of his aid in that capacity, I need not say that I am entirely at your command.” Again that curious flush passed across Mrs. Romayne’s face, leaving it rather pale this time. “Thanks, so much!” she said quickly. “I really could not think of troubling you. I’ve no doubt I shall be able to hold on until Mr. Thomson is well again. Thanks immensely! You will not be within reach for very long, I suppose?” “I shall be in London for a year, certainly,” answered Falconer, acknowledging her tacit refusal to recognise any claim on him in the formal directness of his reply. Then, as she uttered a sharp little exclamation of surprise, he added briefly; “I am in the doctors’ hands, unfortunately. There is something wrong with me, they say.” “I am very sorry----” she began prettily, though her eyes were rather hard and preoccupied. But at that moment the door opened to admit an influx of visitors, and Falconer rose to go. “So glad to have seen you!” she said as she turned to him after welcoming the new-comers. “You won’t have a cup of tea? It is always rather crushing when a man refuses one’s tea, isn’t it, Mrs. Anson?” turning as she spoke to a lady sitting close by. Then as she gave him her hand, speaking in a tone which still included the other lady in the conversation, she alluded for the first time to Julian. The whole call had gone by without one of those references to “my boy” with which all Mrs. Romayne’s acquaintances were so familiar, that such an omission under the circumstances would have been hardly credible to any one of them. “I’m so sorry you have missed my boy!” she said now with her apologetic laugh. “I’m afraid I am absurdly proud of him--isn’t that so, dear Mrs. Anson?--but he really is a dear fellow.” “He is going to the bar, I believe?” said Falconer; his face and voice alike were uncompromisingly stern and unbending. “Yes!” answered Julian’s mother. “He is not clever, dear boy, but I hope he may do fairly well. Good-bye! Shall you be at the Gordons’ to-night? We are going first to see the American actor they rave about so. A funny little domestic party--I and my son and my son’s new and particular ‘chum.’ Good-bye!”