“What has that boy been whispering to you?” she asked. “He’s in the most execrable temper; it was all we could do to persuade him to come. He vows that his liver is out of order, and that he is possessed by diabolical promptings. Pity me for what I suffer in discharging a mother’s duties to him. And, oh, Mrs. Clarendon! let him talk to your cousin--that really charming man! He’s got the Civil Service into his head, now, and I’m sure Mr. Asquith can give him useful advice--about offices, and that kind of thing, you know. What _is_ to become of the poor boy, I _can’t_ imagine! I’ve been at Sir Miles, in letters, for the last ten days, till at length he’s as good as told me to mind my own business. Surely, never were brothers so unlike! One satisfaction is that Sir Miles can’t possibly live long--if it isn’t wicked to say such a thing, and I suppose it must be. He has heart disease, my dear, and in an aggravated form; so Doctor Norman Rayner tells me. I fear I have increased it by my correspondence. Where is the boy gone to? I must take him to Mr. Asquith.” “The boy” had found a pleasant seat by the side of Miss Rhoda Meres. “You’re not going to play?” he asked, seeing a racket in her hand. “I’m in the next set,” Rhoda answered. She had flushed a little as he took his place by her, and there was a sparkle in her eyes as she looked up at him. “Can’t you throw it over? Do get Sophy Page to take your place.” “Why shouldn’t I play?” she asked, examining the handle of the racket. “Oh, I don’t know,” replied Vincent languidly, leaning back and half-closing his eyes. “Do if you like, of course.” “Have you a headache, Mr. Lacour?” Rhoda asked. “Don’t you feel well?” “The fact is I don’t. I feel seedy and bored.” “Pray don’t let me bore you----” She half rose. “You know very well you don’t bore me,” he said, looking directly at her. Then he added, “I-----I half supposed you would have left Knightswell.” She had a quick reply on her lips, but checked it, and merely said: “I have not.” “When do you go back to London?” he inquired, throwing one leg over the other and clasping his hands behind his head. “On Wednesday.” “I suppose I shall be back there before very long,” said Vincent, looking meditatively at the sky. “Probably I shall get a clerkship at five-and-twenty shillings a week.” “I’m afraid you don’t show much energy,” said Rhoda, in a voice which lacked something of the indifference she meant to put into it. “I’ve told you often enough I have none, Miss Meres. I’m like a piece of sea-weed; my condition is dependent on the weather.” “It’s fine enough now, at all events,” she said, with an attempt at a laugh. “Oh, yes; but there’s the very deuce brewing,” returned Vincent, with characteristic freedom of expression. “I wish,” he added slowly, “I’d somebody to help me--somebody who has energy.” “Doesn’t Mr. Parkes----” “Pooh!”