“You’re to go with Bell to-day and get rigged out,” said Strange. “Yes, sir, thank your honour, but I’ve took notice of them pants and sich as were sent to your honour and ’ave hordered the same for myself barrin’ a worser quality.” “Well, upon my word!” “Arrivin’ at Suez without nothin’ to suit the climate might ’ave inconvenienced your honour,” remarked Tolly, with bland consideration. “I have likewise perwided a breechloader and a rewolver.” “Oh, have you? Bring me those weapons without a moment’s delay, and then go with Bell and get your outfit; I pay for those pants, and now, don’t go about the place crowing over the other servants.” “Oh Lord, sir, if you were to hear them over my teeth you’d take back that order. Seein’ likewise that the teeth came out of your honour’s own pocket and are a credit to your establishment, as the dentist hisself said.” “Will you be good enough to go to the devil, Tolly, I’m busy.” “Yes, sir,” said Tolly, and he took himself off to crow conscientiously the rest of the day. For the next two months Gwen comported herself to the satisfaction of no one; she was reticent with the Fellowes, and her mother simply appalled her. Mrs. Waring’s nervous gentle little attempts at being a mother; the delicate tendrils she kept constantly throwing out in her daughter’s direction; her queer quaint experiments in the expression of the emotions, simply worried Gwen to death. She refused to let herself see the pathos of it all, or to be touched. Indeed, as time went on and her weakness grew more apparent to others, the demeanour of her mother grew into a terror to her. She would fly from it to her own room where she would sit with her idle hands lying in her lap, in a quiet agony of loneliness. It was a point of honour with her to keep herself calm; she ate and drank too, and she rested obediently whenever Mary, who had taken the physical part of her under her charge, said she needed rest; she drove when the old woman prescribed air, and walked when movement was supposed to be necessary. She was a mere automaton in her absolute yielding to orders concerning her health. During this time Mr. Waring made a wild attempt to expand into a father. He would issue from time to time from his library with a bundle of random papers in his hand, and entertain Gwen with discourse, grave and gay, mostly concerning Africa, of which continent he had rather a poor opinion and which he painted with lurid colours. As he reeled out anecdotes of the gruesomeness of the climate, the impracticability of travelling, the hideous forms diseases assumed, the congenital villany of the natives, more especially of that portion of the land into which Strange meant to penetrate, and of which he certainly possessed a most intimate knowledge, Gwen used to watch him with a curious cold sort of pain, and wonder if he were human, till one day Mrs. Fellowes found out the existence of these ghastly entertainments and stopped them.