'I am really and truly Athelstan. I have been back in England about a fortnight.' 'You are Athelstan?' George looked at him curiously. When the reputed black-sheep comes home again, it is generally in rags with a long story of fortune's persecutions. This man was not in the least ragged. On the contrary, he looked prosperous. What had he been doing? For, although Elsie continued passionate in her belief in her brother's innocence, everybody else believed that he had run away to escape consequences, and George among the number had accepted that belief. 'Your beard alters you greatly. I should not have known you. To be sure it is eight years since I saw you last, and I was only just beginning my articles when you--left us.' He was on the point of saying 'when you ran away.' 'There is a good deal to talk about. Will you come with me to my rooms? I am putting up in Half Moon Street.' Athelstan hailed a passing hansom and they drove off. 'You have been a fortnight in London,' said George, 'and yet you have not been to see your own people.' 'I have been eight years away, and yet I have not written a single letter to my own people.' George asked no more questions. Arrived at the lodging, they went in and sat down. Athelstan produced soda and whisky and cigars. 'Why have I not called upon my own people?' Athelstan took up the question again. 'Because, when I left home, I swore that I would never return until they came to beg forgiveness. That is why. Every evening I have been walking outside the house, in the hope of seeing some of them without their seeing me. For, you see, I should like to go home again; but I will not go as I went away, under a shameful cloud. That has got to be lifted first. Presently I shall know whether it is lifted. Then I shall know how to act. To-night, I was rewarded by the sight of my sister Elsie, walking home with you. I knew her at once. She is taller than I thought she would become when I went away. Her face hasn't changed much, though. She always had the gift of sweet looks, which isn't quite the same thing as beauty. My sister Hilda, for instance, was always called a handsome girl, but she never had Elsie's sweet looks.' 'She has the sweetest looks in the world.' 'What are you doing with her, George Austin, I ask again?' 'We are engaged to be married.' 'Married? Elsie married? Why--she's--well--I suppose she must be grown up by this time.' 'Elsie is very nearly one-and-twenty. She will be twenty-one to-morrow.' 'Elsie going to be married. It seems absurd. One-and-twenty to-morrow. Ah!' He sat up eagerly. 'Tell me, is she any richer? Has she had any legacies or things?' 'No. How should she? Her _dot_ is her sweet self, which is enough for any man.' 'And you, Austin. I remember you were an articled clerk of eighteen or nineteen when I went away--are you rich?'