Roland paused, stared, and then started up in impulsive contrition, nearly pulling off the table-cloth. "What a thoughtless booby I was, never to let her know! The minute you get down home, you go to her, William Yorke. Tell her how it is--that I have the run of Carrick's people for clothes, boots, hats, and all the rest of it. This suit came home at eight this morning, with an apology for not sending it last night--the fellow thought I might be going to the funeral--and a sensible thought too! Look at it!" stretching out his arms, and turning himself about, that Mr. Yorke might get a comprehensive view of the superfine frock-coat and silken linings. "I'm never worse dressed than this: only that my things are not on new every day. You tell the mother this, William Yorke." He had not done it in vanity; of that Roland possessed as little as any one; but in eager, earnest desire to reassure his mother, and atone to her for his ungrateful forgetfulness. Stooping for his table napkin, he at down again. "Yes, I am well-dressed, though I do have to work. And for recreation, there's this house to come to; and dear old Hamish and Mrs. Channing receive me with gladness and make much of me, just as though I had always been good, and Nelly jumps into my arms." "When do you mean to come to Helstonleigh?" "Never," answered Roland, with prompt decision. "As I can't go back as I wanted to--rich--I shall not go at all. What I wish to ask is, when Arthur Channing is coming up here?" "Arthur Channing! I cannot tell." "It is a shame of people to get a fellow's hopes up, and then damp them. Arthur wrote me word--oh, a month ago--that he was coming to London on business for old Galloway. Close nearly upon that, comes a second letter, saying Galloway was not sure that he should require to send him. I _should_ like to serve him out." William Yorke smiled. "Serve out Arthur?" "Arthur! I'd like to draw Arthur round the old city in a car of triumph, as we used to chair our city members. I mean that wretch of a Galloway. He ought to be taken up for an impostor. Why did he go and tell Arthur he should send him to London, if he didn't mean to?" Gerald Yorke let his fork fall in a semi-passion, and nearly chipped the beautiful plate of Worcester china: was _all_ the conversation to be monopolised by Roland and his miserable interests? It was high time to interfere. Picking up the fork with an air, he cleared his throat. "Sir Vincent comes into about four thousand a-year, entailed property. We went in to hear the will read by old Greatorex. It's not much, is it?" "Not to one reared to the notions Vincent Yorke has been," said Hamish. "But he has more than that, I presume?" "Some odds and ends, I believe: I asked Greatorex. And there's the little homestead down in Surrey. Sir Richard's liabilities die with him. Perhaps he had wiped them off beforehand?"