Mr. Rockley was dressed—that is, he had on his trousers and socks—but he was resting on the bed, propped up just under the window, from whence he could see his beloved and resplendent garden, where tulips and apple-trees were ablaze. He did not look as ill as he was, for the water puffed him up, and his face kept its colour. His stomach was much swollen. He glanced round swiftly, turning his eyes without turning his head. He was the wreck of a handsome, well-built man. Seeing Hadrian, a queer, unwilling smile went over his face. The young man greeted him sheepishly. “You wouldn’t make a life-guardsman,” he said. “Do you want something to eat?” Hadrian looked round—as if for the meal. “I don’t mind,” he said. “What shall you have—egg and bacon?” asked Emmie shortly. “Yes, I don’t mind,” said Hadrian. The sisters went down to the kitchen, and sent the servant to finish the stairs. “Isn’t he _altered_?” said Matilda, _sotto voce_. “Isn’t he!” said Cousin Emmie. “_What_ a little man!” They both made a grimace, and laughed nervously. “Get the frying-pan,” said Emmie to Matilda. “But he’s as cocky as ever,” said Matilda, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head knowingly, as she handed the frying-pan. “Mannie!” said Emmie sarcastically. Hadrian’s new-fledged, cock-sure manliness evidently found no favour in her eyes. “Oh, he’s not bad,” said Matilda. “You don’t want to be prejudiced against him.” I’m not prejudiced against him, I think he’s all right for looks,” said Emmie, “but there’s too much of the little mannie about him.” “Fancy catching us like this,” said Matilda. “They’ve no thought for anything,” said Emmie with contempt. “You go up and get dressed, our Matilda. I don’t care about him. I can see to things, and you can talk to him. I shan’t.” “He’ll talk to my father,” said Matilda, meaningful. “_Sly—!_” exclaimed Emmie, with a grimace. The sisters believed that Hadrian had come hoping to get something out of their father—hoping for a legacy. And they were not at all sure he would not get it. Matilda went upstairs to change. She had thought it all out how she would receive Hadrian, and impress him. And he had caught her with her head tied up in a duster, and her thin arms in a basin of lather. But she did not care. She now dressed herself most scrupulously, carefully folded her long, beautiful, blonde hair, touched her pallor with a little rouge, and put her long string of exquisite crystal beads over her soft green dress. Now she looked elegant, like a heroine in a magazine illustration, and almost as unreal. She found Hadrian and her father talking away. The young man was short of speech as a rule, but he could find his tongue with his “uncle”. They were both sipping a glass of brandy, and smoking, and chatting like a pair of old cronies. Hadrian was telling about Canada. He was going back there when his leave was up. “You wouldn’t like to stop in England, then?” said Mr. Rockley.