He came in, looking white and angry: his mouth was sternly set, and there was a fierce spark in his gray eyes. Mrs. Middleton beckoned him to her sofa, and would have drawn the proud head down to her with a tender whisper of "Tell me, my dear." But the young fellow straightened himself and faced them all as he stood by her side. She clasped and fondled his passive hand. "What is the matter, Horace?" she said at last. "As it happens, there is nothing much the matter," he replied, "You look as if a good deal might be the matter," said Sissy. He made no answer for the moment. Then he looked at her with a curious sort of smile: "Sissy, when we were little--when you were very little indeed--do you remember old Rover?" "That curly dog? Oh yes." "I used to have him in a string sometimes, and take him out: it was great fun," said Horace pensively. "I liked to feel him all alive, scampering and tugging at the end of the string. It was best of all, I think, to give him an unexpected jerk just when he was going to sniff at something, and take him pretty well off his legs: he was so astonished and disappointed. But it was very grand too, if he would but make up his mind he wanted to go one way, to pull at him and _make_ him go just the opposite. He was obstinate, was old Rover, but that was the fun of it. I was obstinate too, and the stronger. How long has he been dead?" "I'm sure I don't know--twelve or thirteen years. Why?" "Is it as long as that? Well, I dare say it is. It has occurred to me to-day for the first time that perhaps it was rather hard on Rover now and then.--Aunt Harriet, why did you let me have the poor old fellow and ill-use him?" "My dear boy, what _do_ you mean? I don't think you were ever cruel--not really cruel, you know. Children always will be heedless, but I think Rover was fond of you." "I doubt it," said Horace. "But what do you mean?" The old lady was fairly perplexed. "What makes you think of having poor old Rover in a string to-day? I don't understand." "Which things are an allegory." Horace looked more kindly down at the suffering face, and attempted to smile. "It was very nice then, but to-day I'm the dog." "String pulled tight?" said Percival. "Jerked." He disengaged his hand. "I think I'll go and have a cigar in the park." Percival was going to rise, but Horace as he passed pressed his fingers on his shoulder: "No, old fellow! not to-day--many thanks. You lecture me, you know, and generally I don't care a rap, so you are quite welcome. But to-day I'm a little sore, rubbed up the wrong way: I might take it seriously. Another time." And he departed, leaving his lecturer to reflect on this brilliant result of all his outpourings of wisdom. CHAPTER X. IN LANGLEY WOOD.