“We shall arrive at Chesterham by the twelve express from Euston, reaching the junction about six-thirty. Pray let somebody meet us.” “I call that cool,” observed the young man shortly. “But I suppose Aunt Clara cannot do a thing for herself. However, it need not entail my going; she only says ‘somebody,’ and I am nobody.” “Your father will expect his sister to be treated with respect,” was his mother’s icy reply. “And I trust he will not be disappointed,” responded Stuart; “but to trudge to Chesterham in this heat will be enough to roast a fellow.” “I have ordered the barouche,” Mrs. Crosbie told him. “Vane must lean back comfortably--she is so delicate.” Stuart Crosbie buried his toe in the well-kept lawn and made no answer to this. His mother watched him keenly, though he was unaware of her scrutiny. “Well?” she said at last. “Well?” he replied, looking up. “Stuart, I do not often express my wishes, but to-day I particularly desire you should go to Chesterham and meet your aunt and cousin.” Stuart removed his felt tennis-hat and bowed low. “My lady-mother,” he said lightly, “your wishes shall be obeyed.” He put on his hat and strolled away, while a frown settled on his mother’s face. She tapped her writing-table with her pen, in evident vexation; but after a while her brow cleared, as if some new thought had come into her mind and by its bright magic dispelled the cloud. Stuart Crosbie sauntered on over the lawn. A moment before he had grumbled at a prospective walk in the heat when the day would be declining, yet now he made no haste to get out of the sun’s rays, although trees whose spreading branches promised shade and coolness studded his path. He had pushed his hat well over his eyes, and with his hands still in his pockets dawdled on, as if with no settled purpose in his mind. He had strolled in a circuitous route, for, after progressing in this fashion for some time, he looked up and found himself almost opposite to the window--though at a distance--from which he had started. His mother’s head was clearly discernible bent over her writing, and, waking suddenly from his dreams, he left the lawn, betook himself to a path, and made for a gate at the end. The lodgekeeper’s wife was seated at her door, having brought her work into the air for coolness. She rose hurriedly as she perceived the young squire striding down the path, and opened the gate. “Why did you trouble, Mrs. Clark?” said Mr. Crosbie, courteously. “I could have managed that myself.” “Law sakes, Master Stuart, my good man would be main angry if he thought I’d let you do such a thing!” “Jim must be taught manners,” Stuart laughed lightly. “How do you like this weather?” Mrs. Clark mopped her brow with her apron.