So this demand threw him into a cold perspiration; he had not presence of mind to prevaricate or invent, and he would probably have committed himself in some deplorable manner, if just at that moment there had not happened to come another tap at the door, or rather a sharp rattle, as if with the end of something wooden. Flushington's head swam with horror at this third interruption; he was prepared for anything now--another aunt, say from Greenland's icy mountains, or India's coral strand, with a fresh relay of female cousins, or a staff of aged family retainers who had washed him in early infancy: he sat there cowering. But when the door opened, a tall, fair, good-looking young fellow in a boating-straw and flannels, and carrying a tennis racket, burst impulsively in. 'Oh, I say,' he began, 'you don't happen to have heard or seen anything of--oh, beg pardon, didn't see, you know,' he added, as he noticed the extraordinary fact that Flushington had people up. 'Oh--er--let me introduce you,' said Flushington, with a vague notion that this was the right thing to do; 'Mr. Lushington--Mrs. (no, I don't know her name)--my aunt ... my cousins!' The young man, who had just been about to retire, bowed and stared with sudden surprise. 'Do you know,' he said slowly in an undertone to the other, 'do you know that I can't help fancying there's some mistake--are you sure that's not _my_ aunt you've got hold of there?' 'Oh,' whispered Flushington, catching at this unexpected hope, 'do you really think so? She seems so certain she belongs to me!' 'Well,' said the new-comer, 'I only know I have an aunt and cousins I've never seen who were coming up some time this week--do these ladies happen to come from the Colonies, by the way?' 'Yes, yes!' cried Flushington, eagerly; 'it's all right, they belong to you; and, I say, _do_ take them away; I can't bear it any longer!' 'Now, now, what's this whispering, Frankie?' cried the aunt; 'not very polite, I must say!' 'He says,' explained Flushington, 'he says it's all a mistake, and--and you're not my aunt at all!' 'Oh, indeed, _does_ he?' she replied, drawing herself together with dignity; 'and may I ask who is this gentleman who knows so much about our family--I didn't catch the name?' 'My name is Lushington--Frank Lushington,' he said. 'Then--who are _you_?' she demanded, turning upon the unfortunate owner of the rooms; 'answer me, I insist upon it!' 'Me?' he stammered, 'I'm Francis Flushington. I--I'm very sorry--but I can't help it!' 'Why--why--then you're no nephew of _mine_, sir!' cried the aunt. 'Thank you very much,' said Flushington, with positive gratitude. 'But,' she said, 'I want to know _why_ I have been allowed to deceive myself in this way. Perhaps, sir, you will kindly explain?' 'What's the good of asking _me_?' protested Flushington; 'I haven't an idea why!'