Hardly, however, had Mr. Plantagenet uttered those memorable words, 'Dick's late to-night; I wonder what keeps him,' when the front door opened, and the Heir Apparent entered. Immediately some strange change seemed to pass by magic over the assembled household. Everybody looked up, as though an event had occurred. Mrs. Plantagenet herself, a weary-looking woman with gentle goodness beaming out of every line in her worn face, gave a sigh of relief. 'Oh, Dick,' she cried, 'I'm so glad you've come! We've all been waiting for you.' Richard glanced round the room with a slight air of satisfaction. It was always a pleasure to him to find his father at home, and not, as was his wont, in the White Horse parlour; though, to say the truth, the only reason for Mr. Planta-genet's absence that night from his accustomed haunt was this little tiff with the landlord over his vulgar hints of payment. Then he stooped down and kissed his mother tenderly on the forehead, patted Eleanor's curly head with a brotherly caress, gave a kindly glance at Prince Hal, as he loved to call him mentally, and sat down in the easy-chair his mother pushed towards him. For a moment there was silence; then Dick began in an explanatory voice: 'I'm sorry I'm late; but I had a piece of work to finish to-night, mother--rather particular work, too: a little bit of bookbinding.' 'You get paid extra for that, Richard, don't you?' his father asked, growing interested. 'Well, yes,' Dick answered, rather grudgingly; 'I get paid extra for that; I do it in overtime. But that wasn't all,' he went on hurriedly, well aware that his father was debating in his own mind whether he couldn't on the strength of it borrow a shilling. 'It was a special piece of work for the new governess at the Rectory. And, mother, isn't it odd? her name's Mary Tudor!' 'There isn't much in that,' his father answered, balancing his cigarette daintily between his first and second finger. '“A' Stuarts are na sib to the King,” you know, Richard. The Plantagenets who left the money had nothing to do with the Royal Family--that is to say, with _us_,' Mr. Plantagenet went on, catching himself up by an after-thought. 'They were mere Sheffield cutlers, people of no antecedents, who happened to take our name upon themselves by a pure flight of fancy, because they thought it high-sounding. Which it is, undoubtedly. And as for Tudors, bless your heart, they're common enough in Wales. In point of fact--though I'm proud of Elizabeth, as a by-blow of the family--we must always bear in mind that for _us_, my dear boy, the Tudors were never anything but a distinct _mesalliance_.' 'Of course,' Richard answered with profound conviction.