“There you are, you rascal!” his father was on the point of saying as Richard came into the light of the one big bow-window, but, instead, he gazed at him for an instant in silence. Before him was one of the handsomest fellows his eyes had ever rested upon--broad-shouldered and tall and straight, with a thoughtful yet keen face, of which every feature was both fine and solid, and dark brown hair with night and firelight in it, and a touch of the sun here and there at moments. The situation might have been embarrassing to a more experienced man than Richard as he waited for his father to speak; but he stood quite at his ease, slightly bent, and motionless, neither hands nor feet giving him any of the trouble so often caused by those outlying provinces. The slight colour that rose in his rather thin cheeks, only softened the beauty of a face whose outline was severe. He stood like a soldier waiting the word of his officer. “By Jove!” said his father; and there was another pause. The baronet was momently growing prouder of his son. He had never had a feeling like it before. He saw his mother in him. “She's looking at me straight out of his eyes!” he said to himself. “Ain't you going to sit down?” he said to him at last, forgetting that he had neither shaken hands with him, nor spoken a word of welcome. Richard moved a chair a little nearer and sat down, wondering what would come next. “Well, what are you going to do?” asked his father. “I must first know your wish, sir,” he answered. “Church won't do?” “No, sir.” “Glad to hear it! You're much too good for the church!--No offence, Mr. Wingfold! The same applies to yourself.” “So my uncle on the stock-exchange used to say!” answered Wingfold, laughing, as he turned to the baronet. “He thought me good enough, I suppose, for a priest of Mammon!” “I'm glad you're not offended. What do you think of that son of mine?” “I have long thought well of him.” At the first sound of his voice, Richard had risen, and now approached him, his hand outstretched. “Mr. Wingfold!” he said joyfully. “I remember now!” returned sir Wilton; “it was from him I heard of you; and that was what made me seek your acquaintance.--He promises fairly, don't you think?--Shoulders good; head well set on!” “He looks a powerful man!” said Wingfold. “--We shall be happy to see you, Mr. Lestrange, as soon as you care to come to us.” “That will be to-morrow, I hope, sir,” answered Richard. “Stop, stop!” cried sir Wilton. “We know nothing for certain yet!--By the bye, if your stepmother don't make you particularly welcome, you needn't be surprised, my boy!” “Certainly not. I could hardly expect her to be pleased, sir!” “Not pleased? Not pleased at what? Now, now, don't you presume! Don't you take things for granted! How do you know she will have reason to be displeased? I never promised you anything! I never told you what I intended!--Did I ever now?”