The moment he saw that Richard was indeed gone, the baronet swore to himself that the fellow was his own son. He was his mother all over!--anything but ugly, and far fitter to represent the family than the smooth-faced ape lady Ann had presented him with! But a doubt came: his late wife had a sister somewhere, and a son of hers might have stolen a likeness to his lady-aunt! The tradesman fellow knew of the connection, and pretended to himself not to think much of it! “What _are_ we coming to, by Jove!” muttered the baronet. “The pride of the lower classes is growing portentous!--No, the fellow is none of mine!” he concluded with a sigh. Alas for his grip on lady Ann! The pincers had melted in his grasp, and she was gone! It _was_ a pity! If he had been a better husband to poor Ruby, he would have taken better care of her child, ugly as he was, and would have had him now to plague lady Ann! But stop! there was something odd about the child--something more than mere ugliness--something his nurse had shown him in that very room! By Jove! what was it? It had something to do with ducks, or geese, or swans, or pelicans! He had mentioned the thing to his wife, he knew, and she was sure to have remembered it! But he was not going to ask her! Very likely she had known the fellow by it, and therefore sent him out of the house!--Yes! yes! by Jove! that was it! He had webs between his fingers and toes!--He might have got rid of them, no doubt, but he must see his hands! All this passed swiftly through sir Wilton's mind. He rang the library bell furiously, and sent a groom after the bookbinder. They drove in at the gate, but stopped a little way from the house. Richard ran to the great door, found it open, and went straight to the library. There sat the baronet as at first. “I bethought me,” said sir Wilton the moment he entered, “that I had given you a cheque on the branch at Barset, when it would probably suit you better to have one on headquarters in London!” “It was very kind of you to think of it, sir,” answered Richard. “Kind! I don't know about that! I'm not often accused of that weakness!” returned sir Wilton, rising with a grin--in which, however, there was more of humour than ill nature. He went to the table in the window, sat down, unlocked a drawer, took out a cheque-book, and began to write a cheque. “What did you say was your name?” he asked: “these cheques are all made to order, and I should prefer your drawing the money.” Richard gave him again the name he had always been known by. “Tuke! What a beast of a name!” said the baronet. “How do you spell it?” Richard's face flushed, but he would not willingly show anger with one who had granted the prayer of his sorest need. He spelled the name to him as unconcernedly as he could. But the baronet had a keen ear. “Oh, you needn't be crusty!” he said. “I meant no harm. One has fancies about names, you know! What did they call your mother before she was married?”