"Well now, I like spirit--no one cares to be talked about behind one's back. Supposing we shake hands, you and I, as we are to be so nearly related. I am Nan's guardian, her next of kin,--Sir Harry Challoner, at your service; and Nan sends her love and you are a lucky fellow, that is what you are!" exclaimed Sir Harry, genially, as he struck Dick a sounding blow on his shoulder. But Dick did not wince; and, though the diamond ring cut into his hand as they exchanged that grasp, no expression of pain crossed his face, which became all at once quite radiant. Sir Harry hailed the metamorphosis with delight. Here was the real Dick emerging like a young sun-god from the clouds. "Come, that is first-rate; I like the look of you better now," he said, with an appreciative nod. "Father, what does this mean?" faltered Dick. "It means," growled Mr. Mayne, for he could not get quite amiable all at once, though his heart was lightening in his bosom, "it means that I am an old fool, Dick, and that you are a young one." "No, father,--not really,--does it?" And Dick beamed still more. "And it means that you are not to plague me any more about the City. But there! though you have behaved so badly to me, Dick, I forgive you. Sir Harry and I have been talking over things, and if you will work hard for your degree your mother shall ask the girl down here, and we will see about it, and that is all I can say at present. And so we may as well shake hands upon it too." But Dick did more than that; he threw his arm over his father's shoulder with a movement that was almost caressing. "Thank you, pater; you are a brick and no mistake!" was all the undemonstrative Briton's tongue could say. But Mr. Mayne, as he looked in his boy's face and felt that pressure on his shoulder, thought them sufficiently eloquent. "There! get along with you, and have it out with your mother," he growled. But, in spite of his surly tone, Mr. Mayne felt an amount of relief that astonished himself: to see Dick's face happy again, to have no cloud between them, to know that no domestic discord would harass his soul and render gruel necessary to his well-being, was restoring him to his old self again. Sir Harry longed to throw back his head and indulge in a good laugh as he witnessed this little scene of reconciliation. Mrs. Mayne, who was sitting somewhat sadly by her own fireside, thinking over that day's discomfort, was quite taken aback by hearing Dick coming upstairs in his old way--three steps at a time--and then bursting into the room after a hasty knock at the door. "Mother," he cried, breathlessly, "Sir Harry Challoner is in the library--and pater wants you to come down and give them some tea--and Sir Henry is going to stop to dinner--and the woodcock is to be cooked--and you are to get the best room ready. But first of all--like the dear, darling mother you are--you are to sit down and write a letter to Nan."