Nellie gave a little shrug of her shoulders, but made no reply. She was far from being a selfish girl, but she could not see why everything and everybody should be made to give way to Hubert and his convenience, as it had to do wherever her mother's authority or influence reached. For Mrs Dorrien chose to fancy her youngest son an invalid, on the strength of which that interesting youth at the age of twenty-two would have taken first prize at an unlicked cub show--supposing such an institution to exist. Nellie herself knew this reputed debility to be sheer fudge-- which knowledge she unconsciously shared with certain convivial and raffish spirits who were wont to meet more nights a week than was good for them at the "Cock and Bull and Twisted Cable" in Wandsborough, and these latter could have accounted for the poor boy's chronic seediness more to his mother's enlightenment than satisfaction. "Hallo, mother. Morning, Nell!" cried the object under discussion, entering the breakfast-room and sliding languidly into his place. A sallow, loosely-built, light-haired youth, somewhat deficient in chin, and with an irritating drawl. "At last, Hubert dear. I began to think you must have had a bad night, and was getting anxious!" said his mother fondly. "How are you this morning, my boy? You don't look at all well." She was right--in one sense. He had had a bad night, the above-mentioned sporting hostelry containing proportionately less whisky and soda, not to mention other varieties of tipple more or less deleterious. The General's hair would have stood straight on end had he known when and how his youngest-born had arrived home. "Oh, I'm all right, mother," growled that guileless youth, "except that I've got a deuce of a head on. But I say, what was the veteran looking so mortally black about just now? I met him on the stairs, or rather I saw him--he didn't see me, thank Heaven--and he was scowling like an assassin. He had a lot of letters in his fist. By the way"--breaking off with a start of alarm--"no one has been dunning him about--about me, don't you know. Eh?" "No, no dear," quickly answered his mother. "It was not about you. Your father is put out over his correspondence, but it is not about you. That I may say." "That's lucky," said Hubert, greatly relieved. "I didn't know who might have been at him. But, mother, what was it about?" he persisted, his curiosity awakened in proportion as his fears were lulled. "Nothing that you need mind," returned Mrs Dorrien, rising and taking refuge from further questioning in flight. "Nellie," began the young man, as soon as his mother had left the room, "I wish you knew the Rectory people." "So do I. I just met the girls once at the Nevilles' garden party, and rather liked them. But mamma would sooner cut off her head than have anything to say to them. But why do you wish it?"