He talked of the boy, he talked of his wife, he laid plans, he tore them down, he built them up again, he asked advice, he did not wait to hear it, but rambled on, excited, eager. Truth is, there had suddenly been lifted from his mind the dread and shadow of four years. Wherever he had gone, whatever he had been or done, that dread shadow had followed him, and now to know that instead of having to endure a hell he had to win a heaven, and to feel as if his brain had been opened and a mass of vapours and naughty little mannikins of remorse had been let out, was a trifle intoxicating even to a man of his usual vigour and early acquaintance with exciting things. “Dick, Dick!” he said enthusiastically, “you’ve been royal. You always were better than any chap I ever knew. You’re always doing for others. Hang it, Dick, where does your fun come in? Nobody seems ever to do anything for you.” Richard gave his arm a squeeze. “Never mind about me, boy. I’ve had all the fun I want, and all I’m likely to get, and so long as you’re all willing to have me around, I’m satisfied. There’s always a lot to do among the people in the village, one way and another, and I’ve a heap of reading on, and what more does a fellow want?” “You didn’t always feel that way, Dick?” “No. You see, at different times in life you want different kinds of pleasures. I’ve had a good many kinds, and the present kind is about as satisfactory as any.” “But, Dick, you ought to get married. You’ve got coin, you’ve got sense, you’re a bit distinguished-looking, and I’ll back your heart against a thousand bishops. You’ve never been in danger of making a fool of yourself as I have. Why didn’t you--why don’t you--get married?” Richard patted his brother’s shoulder. “Married, boy? Married? I’ve got too much on my hands. I’ve got to bring you up yet. And when that’s done I shall have to write a book called ‘How to bring up a Parent.’ Then I’ve got to help bring your boy up, as I’ve done these last three years and more. I’ve got to think of that boy for a long while yet, for I know him better than you do, and I shall need some of my coin to carry out my plans.” “God bless you, Dick! Bring me up as you will, only bring her along too; and as for the boy, you’re far more his father than I am. And mother says that it’s you that’s given me the wife I’ve got now--so what can I say?--what can I say?” It was the middle of the Green Park, and Richard turned and clasped Frank by both shoulders. “Say? Say that you’ll stand by the thing you swore to one mad day in the West as well as any man that ever lived--‘to have and to hold, to love and to cherish from this day forth till death us do part, Amen.’” Richard’s voice was low and full of a strange, searching something.