As I walked across the great hall on my way out I came face to face with Lady Silchester, who was thoughtfully contemplating one of a long line of oil-paintings dark with age, yet vivid still with the marvellous colouring of an old master. To my surprise she stopped me. "Are you a judge of pictures, Mr. Morton?" she asked. "I was wondering whether that was a genuine Reynolds." And she pointed to the picture which she had been examining. I shook my head, briefly acknowledging that I knew nothing whatever about them. I was quite conscious at the time that the question was only a feint. What was a farmer's son likely to know of the old masters? "Ah, never mind!" she remarked, shutting up her eyeglasses with a snap. "I can ask Mr. Ravenor this evening. I thought, perhaps, that as you were here so often he might have talked to you about them. I know that he is very proud of his pictures." "Had I been here often he might have done so," I answered. "As it happens, however, this is my first visit to Ravenor Castle." "Indeed? And yet Mr. Ravenor seems to take a great interest in you. Why?" I hesitated and wished that I could get away; but Lady Silchester was standing immediately in front of me. "Your ladyship will pardon me," I said, "but might not your question be better addressed to Mr. Ravenor?" She bit her lip and moved haughtily to one side. I made a movement as though to pass her, but she turned suddenly and prevented me. "Mr. Morton," she said, a little nervously, "my brother said that you were going to Dr. Randall's, I believe?" I admitted that such was the fact. "I daresay you know that my son is there," she continued, "and I am afraid he's not behaving exactly as he should. Of course, we don't hear anything definite; but Cecil is very good-natured, easily led into anything, and I am a little doubtful about his companions there. Now, Mr. Morton, you're not much more than a boy yourself, of course; but you don't look as though you would care for the sort of thing that I'm afraid Cecil gets led into. I do wish that you and he could be friends, and that--that--" She broke off, as though expecting me to say something, and I felt a little awkward. "It's very kind of you to think so well of me, when you don't know anything about me," I said, twirling my cap in my hands; "but you forget that I am only a farmer's son, and perhaps your son would not care to be friends with me." "My son, whatever his faults may be, has all the instincts of a gentleman," Lady Silchester answered proudly; "and if he liked you for yourself, it would make no difference, even if you were a tradesman's son. Promise me that, if you have the opportunity, you will do what you can?" "Oh, yes; I'll promise that, with pleasure!" I assured her.