“He has overworked himself; he is not able to do anything,” said Lucy with great sympathy, looking out from the window with a grave face as he went out through the big gate-way and crossed the road. When he had reached the edge of the common he looked back, and seeing her, took off his hat. It gave St. Clair a glow of satisfaction to see Lucy looking after him. He went on with a lighter step, and, if possible, a broader chest than ever. “By Jove! isn’t he fat?” said Raymond, by Lucy’s side; and Lucy, full of sympathy as she was, could not help remarking the breadth of shadow which moved with him across the sunshine. She laughed in spite of herself. The observation was not witty, but Raymond was put into such high spirits by the laugh he elicited that he burst forth into scintillations of still more unquestionable wit. “That is because they pet him so at Mrs. Stone’s. Ladies always do pet one. I should like to know where he’d find a fly-horse up to his weight. Let us ask him to the picnic, Miss Trevor, and borrow a beast for him from the brewer. One elephant upon another,” said Ray. But Lucy’s amusement did not last through so long an address. She ended by a sigh, looking after him sympathetically. “I wish one could do everything one wished!” she said. “Ah!” Raymond echoed with a sigh. “But you can, I should think, pretty near. I wish I could do any one thing I wished,” the young man added, ruefully. “And that is just my case, too,” Lucy said. CHAPTER XXXIV. A CROQUET PARTY.