The Rectory was like a bee-hive. Mr. Arrow was the happy father of ten healthy children, and his wife was pretty well worn out looking after them. One of the boys was at Sandhurst, a couple were at school, but the majority of the children remained to make the old house lively. Why Darrel, who loved his comforts, should come to such a noisy establishment, Arrow could not conjecture, although he was glad to welcome him. Darrel himself declared that he came to see his old tutor, and Arrow accepted the flattering compliment. But when he found that his guest paid three visits to Rose Cottage in as many days, the rector began to mistrust the excuse. However, he said nothing to Darrel, as the Rhodesian was rich, and might be trusted to do something towards launching the young Arrows into the bleak world. Darrel was a big man, as huge as Jarman, but black and sulky in his looks. His manners were soft, and he resembled a large tom-cat more than anything else, particularly when speaking, as he positively purred. With the children he was a favourite, as he always presented them with gifts; but it was understood that on condition of this largess, they were to leave him alone. Consequently, he had all his time to himself, and spent it dodging about Rose Cottage, or filling the little parlour with his gigantic person. Mrs. Perth rather liked him, as he was always deferential to her, and she was not averse to his courtship of Mildred, for that was what his continual, and not always welcome, presence amounted to. But the girl herself thought Darrel possessed a violent temper, and always declared that she would not marry him if he were as rich as Vanderbilt. However, as the Rhodesian came ostentatiously to condole with her on account of her trouble, she could not very well express herself as she wished. Moreover, in a measure, she was now engaged to Jarman, but she told no one of the agreement she had made with him, not even Mrs. Perth. It was now over a fortnight since the death of Starth, and as he was buried, Mildred was recovering her spirits. She had never cared particularly for her brother, who was something of a bully, and had seen so little of him that his death made scarcely any difference in her life. Consequently, beyond that she was in mourning, she showed little sign of the catastrophe. And Walter had only himself to thank for the calmness with which she accepted his decease. One afternoon Mrs. Perth was out, and Darrel sat with Mildred drinking tea in the parlour. It was a small room filled with chintz-covered furniture, and looked extremely cool. The window was open, and Darrel, who felt the heat, sat near it cup in hand. He was dressed in spotless flannels, and looked better-looking and less black than usual. Mildred, in her sombre dress, was fanning herself vigorously. "I wish I could feel as cool as you do," she said, enviously.