Lady Car had done too much, the doctor said. The last dinner had been given; the last guest had departed, and life at the Towers was about to begin under its new aspect--a changed aspect, and one which those of the spectators who were free from any personal feeling on the subject regarded with some curiosity. How was Tom to assume his new position as head of the house in presence of his mother and stepfather? Were they to remain there as his guests? Were they to leave along with the other visitors? Tom himself had fully made up his mind on this subject. He was indeed a little nervous about what Beau would say, and kept his eyes steadily away from that gentleman when he made his little announcement, which was done at breakfast on the first morning after the family party was left alone. It must be premised that Tom’s birthday was in the end of July, and that by this time August had begun. ‘I say, mother,’ Tom said. He gave a glance round to make quite sure that the newspaper widely unfolded made a screen between himself and Beau. ‘I mean to go in for the grouse this year on the Patullo moor.’ ‘I have always heard it was too small for such sport,’ said Lady Car. ‘Oh, I don’t know that. You never would let me try. The keepers have had it all to themselves, and I daresay they’ve made a good thing out of it. But this year I’m going to make a change. I’ve asked a lot of fellows for the 12th.’ ‘You are losing no time, Tom. I am glad to find you are so hospitable,’ said his mother. ‘Oh, hospitable be hanged! I want to have some fun,’ said the young master. ‘And I say, mother’--he gave another glance at the newspaper which was still opened out in front of his stepfather. And Beau had made no remark. ‘Mother, I say, I don’t want, you know, to hurry you; but a lot of fellows together are sometimes a bit rowdy. I mean, you know, you mightn’t perhaps like---- You’re so awfully quiet at Easton. I mean, you know----’ ‘That you want us to leave the Towers, Tom.’ ‘Oh, I don’t go so far as that. I only meant---- Why, mother, don’t you know? It’s all different. It’s--not the same kind of thing--it’s----’ ‘I understand,’ she said, in her quiet tones, and with her usual smile. ‘We had taken thought for that. Edward, we had spoken of going--when was it?’ ‘To-morrow,’ said Beaufort, behind his paper. ‘That’s all settled. I had meant to tell you this morning, Tom. No need to have been in such a hurry; you know your mother is not fond of the Towers.’ ‘I didn’t mean that there was any hurry,’ cried Tom, very red. ‘Perhaps not, my boy, but it looks like it. However, we’re both of one mind, which is convenient. The only thing that is wanted is a Bradshaw, for we had not settled yet about the trains.’