'Parents have a notion they can enforce confidence--that the very relationship instils it. Here is the vicar groaning over his son's unfilial reticence and breaking his heart over a fit of very youthful stubbornness which calls itself manly pride, and Richard all the while yearning after his father, but bitter at being treated and schooled like a child. I declare I take Richard's part in this.' 'You ought not to blame my brother,' returned Mildred in a low voice. 'He blames himself, and rightly too. He had no business to have such a man about the house. Richard is a cantankerous puppy not to confide in his father. But what's the good of leading a horse to the water?--you can't make him drink.' 'I begin to think you are right about Richard,' sighed Mildred; 'one cannot help being fond of him, but he is very unsatisfactory. I am afraid I shall never make any impression.' 'Then no one will. Fie! Miss Lambert, I detect a whole world of disappointment in that sigh. What has become of your faith? Half Dick's faultiness comes from having an old head on young shoulders; in my opinion he's worth half a dozen Penny-royals rolled in one.' 'Dr. Heriot, how can you! Rex has the sweetest disposition in the world. I strongly suspect he is his father's favourite.' 'Have you just found that out? It would have done you good to have seen the vicar gloating over Roy's daubs this afternoon, as though they were treasures of art; the rogue actually made him believe that his coffee-coloured clouds, with ragged vermilion edges, were sublime effects. I quite pleased him when I assured him they were supernatural in the truest sense of the word. He wiped his eyes actually, over the gipsy sibyl that I call Roy's gingerbread queen. What a rage the lad put himself in when I said I had never seen such a golden complexion except at a fair booth or in very bad cases of jaundice.' 'How you do delight to tease that boy!' 'Isn't it too bad--ruffling the wings of my "sweet Whistler," as I call him. He is the sort of boy all you women spoil. He only wants a little more petting to become as effeminate as heart can wish. I am half afraid that I shall miss his bright face when a London studio engulfs him.' 'You think my brother will give him his way, then?' 'He has no choice. Besides, he quite believes he has an unfledged Claude Lorraine or Salvator Rosa on his hands. I believe Polly's Dad Fabian is to be asked, and the matter regularly discussed. Poor Lambert! he will suffer a twinge or two before he delivers the boy into the hands of the Bohemians. He turned quite pale when I hinted a year in Rome; but there seems no reason why Roy should not have a regular artistic education; and, after all, I believe the lad has some talent--some of his smaller sketches are very spirited.' 'I thought so myself,' replied Mildred; and the subject of their conversation appearing at this moment, the topic was dropped. CHAPTER XIV RICHARD COEUR-DE LION