Richard made no answer, and Mr. Keene forthwith took his leave, suave to the last. When he was gone, Richard went to the dining-room, where his mother was sitting. Mrs. Mutimer would have given much to be allowed to sit in the kitchen; she had a room of her own upstairs, but there she felt too remote from the centre of domestic operations, and the dining-room was a compromise. Her chair was always placed in a rather dusky corner; she generally had sewing on her lap, but the consciousness that her needle was not really in demand, and that she might just as well have sat idle, troubled her habits of mind. She often had the face of one growing prematurely aged. ‘I hope you won’t let them bring anyone they like,’ Richard said to her. ‘I’ve sent that fellow about his business; he’s here for no good. He mustn’t come again.’ ‘They won’t heed me,’ replied Mrs. Mutimer, using the tone of little interest with which she was accustomed to speak of details of the new order. ‘Well, then, they’ve _got_ to heed you, and I’ll have that understood.--Why didn’t ‘Arry go to work to-day?’ ‘Didn’t want to, I s’pose.’ ‘Has he stayed at home often lately?’ ‘Not at ‘ome, but I expect he doesn’t always go to work.’ ‘Will you go and sit with Alice in the front room? I’ll have a talk with him.’ ‘Arry came whistling at the summons. There was a nasty look on his face, the look which in his character corresponded to Richard’s resoluteness. His brother eyed him. ‘Look here, ‘Arry,’ the elder began, ‘I want this explaining. What do you mean by shirking your work?’ There was no reply. ‘Arry strode to the window and leaned against the side of it, in the attitude of a Sunday loafer waiting for the dram-shop to open. ‘If this goes on,’ Richard pursued, ‘you’ll find yourself in your old position again. I’ve gone to a good deal of trouble to give you a start, and it seems to me you ought to show a better spirit. We’d better have an understanding; do you mean to learn engineering, or don’t you?’ ‘I don’t see the use of it,’ said the other. ‘What do you mean? I suppose you must make your living somehow?’ ‘Arry laughed, and in such a way that Richard looked at him keenly, his brow gathering darkness. ‘What are you laughing at?’ ‘Why, at you. There’s no more need for me to work for a living than there is for you. As if I didn’t know that!’ ‘Who’s been putting that into your head?’ No scruple prevented the lad from breaking a promise he had made to Mr. Keene, the journalist, when the latter explained to him the disposition of the deceased Richard Mutimer’s estate; it was only that he preferred to get himself credit for acuteness.