"Is it you, Stephen!" cried Mr. Radcliffe, without offering to shake hands: for the house was never given to ceremony. "Yes, it's me," replied Stephen, who generally talked more like a boor than a gentleman, particularly in his angry moods. "It's about time I came home, I think, when such a notice as this appears in the public papers." He took a newspaper from his pocket, and laid it before his father, pointing with his fore-finger to an announcement. It was that of Mr. Radcliffe's marriage. "Well?" said Mr. Radcliffe. "Is that true or a hoax?" "True." Stephen caught the paper up again, tore it in two, and flung it across the room. "What the devil made you go and do such a thing as that?" "Softly, Ste. Keep a civil tongue in your head. I am my own master." "At your age!" growled Stephen. "There's no fool like an old fool." "If you don't like it, you can go back to where you came from," said Mr. Radcliffe quietly, turning the wheat from one of the sample-bags out on the table. Stephen went to the window, and stood there looking at that agreeable prospect beyond--the trees--his hands in his pockets, his back to his father, and swearing to himself awfully. It would not do to quarrel implacably with the old man, for his money was at his own disposal: and, if incensed too greatly, he might possibly take the extreme step of leaving it away from him. But Stephen Radcliffe's heart was good to turn his father out of doors there and then, and appropriate the money to himself at once, if he only had the power. "No fool like an old fool!" he again muttered. "Where _is_ the cat?" "Where's who?" cried Mr. Radcliffe, looking up from his wheat. "The woman you've gone and made yourself a world's spectacle with." "Ste, my lad, this won't do. Keep a fair tongue in your head, as I bid you; or go where you may make it a foul one. For by Heaven!"--and Mr. Radcliffe's passion broke out and he rose from his seat menacingly--"I'll not tolerate this." Stephen hardly ever remembered his father to have shown passion before. He did not like it. They had gone on so very quietly together, until that quarrel just spoken of, and Stephen had had his own way, and ruled, so to say, in all things, for his father was easy, that this outbreak was something new. It might not do to give further provocation then. He was standing as before in sullen silence, his hands in his trousers' pockets and the skirts of his short brown velveteen coat thrown back, and Mr. Radcliffe had sat down to the bags again, when the door opened, and some one came in. Stephen turned. He saw a pretty young girl in black, with some books in her delicate hands. Just for an instant he wondered who the young girl could be: and then the thought flashed over him that "the woman" his father had married might have a grown-up daughter. Selina had been unpacking her trunks upstairs, and arranging her things in the drawers and closets. She hesitated on her way to the book-case when she saw the stranger.