room with a devouring glance in the momentary pause he made at the door, and then entered, holding out his hand to the newcomer--“They meant to mystify me, I suppose,” he said, “and thought I would not recognise you. How are you, Edgar? You are looking just as I thought you would, just as I knew you would. When did you come home?” “Last night, late,” said Edgar, returning cordially the pressure of his hand. “And did not wait to be waited on, like a reigning monarch, but came to see your old friends, like an impatient good-hearted boy? There’s a fine fellow,” said the Doctor, patting him on the shoulders with a caress which was quite as forcible as it was affectionate. “I ought to like you, Edgar Arden, for you have always justified my opinion of you, and done exactly what I expected you would do, all your life.” “Perhaps it is rash to say that I hope I shall always justify your opinion,” said Edgar, laughing, “for I don’t know whether it is a good one. But I don’t suppose I am very hard to read,” he added, with a warm flush rising over his face. He grew red, and he stopped short with a certain sense of embarrassment for which he could scarcely account. He did not even try to account for it to himself, but flushed all over, and felt excessively hot and uncomfortable. The fact was, he was a very open-hearted, candid young fellow, much more tempted to wear his heart upon his sleeve than to conceal it; and, as he glanced round upon his three companions, he could see that there was a certain furtive look of scrutiny about all their eyes: not furtive so far as the Doctor was concerned, who looked through and through him without any concealment of his intention. But Mr. Fielding had half-turned his head, while yet he peered with a tremulous scrutiny at his young guest; and Clare’s pretty forehead was contracted with a line of anxiety which Edgar knew well. They were all doubtful about him--not sure of him--trying to make him out. Such a thought was bitter to the young man. His colour rose higher and higher, and his heart began to beat. “I do not think I am very difficult to read,” he repeated, with a forced and painful smile. “Not a bit,” said the Doctor; “and you are as welcome home as flowers in May: the first time I have said that to you, my boy, but it won’t be the last. Miss Clare, my sister would be pleased if you told her of Edgar’s return. She will have to be prepared, and got up, and all sorts of things, to see him; but, if you were to tell her, she would think it kind. Ah, here’s the chocolate. Of course in this house everything must give place to that.” “I will go over to Miss Somers for ten minutes,” said Clare, “thank you, Doctor, for reminding me; and, dear Mr. Fielding, don’t let Edgar go till I come back.”