Robert Spencer was not only, as his mother put it, a handsome young fellow; he had more than good looks, he had that air of distinction which goes with character. No one with even a slight knowledge of physiognomy could see him once without perceiving that he was physically, mentally, and probably morally, a strong man, and, what was almost as much, a likable man. As he stood framed in the open window, with the glory of that almost uncannily glorious April sun lighting up the frame, each of those who saw him was conscious of an impulse which, had it been yielded to, would have resulted in a scene of tenderness. He was dear to his parents, and he knew it; they themselves scarcely knew how dear, and that also he suspected. He was dear, with a different sort of dearness, to the girl who moved towards him, as if impelled by a power against which she was helpless; only to start back, shrinking timidly, with frightened, longing eyes, and cheeks on which the crimson faded to pallor. Yet, though he was dear to all of them, there was not one of the three who would not rather he had not appeared upon the scene just then. His mother, with characteristic courage, gave expression to her feeling on the spot. "Robert! my boy! we don't want you. Where have you come from? and what are you doing here?" He smiled, and his was such a pleasant smile it did one good to see it. "Why, mother, I'm sorry to hear that you don't want me. I've rushed from the station to tell Nora, what I've not a doubt she knows already, that I hope she'll find in me some one who'll take the place, at least in part, of him whom she has lost." When he advanced into the room his mother placed herself in his path. "Robert, my dear boy, you ought not to be here. Go back to Holtye, and when I return I will explain to your perfect satisfaction why I say it." "Ought not to be here!--where Nora is! My dear mother! Nora, why do--why don't--Nora, what's the matter?" He made a sudden forward movement, but once more his mother was too quick for him; again she interposed; if he did not wish to knock her over he had to stand still. "Robert, I must beg you to do as I desire, and return at once to Holtye." "My dear mother, I must beg you to stand aside, and let me speak to Nora." The old woman turned to the girl. "Miss Lindsay, you perceive how my son treats me; have you nothing which you wish to say?" "Of course," replied the son in question, "Nora has something which she wishes to say--I'm sure I don't know why you call her Miss Lindsay; she's not likely to say it when addressed like that. I'll make a suggestion, mother; you go back to Holtye, with the dad, and I'll talk to Nora when you're gone, and I'll tell you some of the things she says to me when I return to Holtye." The old lady stuck to her guns. "Miss Lindsay, is there nothing that you wish to say?"