‘Yes, I did; and that’s why I didn’t much care to talk about the place. Now mind you, boy, I did nothing really wrong—no, no. I was wild and foolish; but I never disgraced my father’s name’—here his face assumed an edifying expression of virtuous complacency. ‘I was only a bit gay and wild; but still one doesn’t like such episodes brought to light after a number of years—you will know better what I mean when you are married, and settled down in life. My wife, now, is what I call a fastidious woman—an uncommonly particular, upright, conscientious woman.’ ‘Quite so,’ ejaculated Tor softly. ‘Eh? yes, quite so; I knew you would agree with me, and you can understand that I don’t want old Whitbury gossip to come to her ears. I don’t want to meet Miss Marjory Descartes, or for her to meet Celia. I’d rather she never came near the place at all. And I’ll take it as a personal favour, Philip, if you will not talk about such things before my wife, or put ideas into her head, or have Miss Marjory to Ladywell at all.’ Belassis was flushed, breathless, and incoherent. Tor answered gravely enough: ‘I can’t promise not to ask Miss Marjory to Ladywell; but you can keep out of her way as much as you please. If I were you, I would tell your wife about these innocuous wild oats, and get the matter off your mind. However, I have no wish to introduce the subject. I always think people had much better not meddle with their neighbours’ affairs.’ Even Belassis’ thick head caught at the meaning of these last significant words. ‘Oh, ah—yes,’ he answered uneasily. ‘I never do interfere—I don’t mean to. We’ll just keep on good terms, and let one another alone.’ Belassis rode off as rapidly as he dared, feeling unequal to prolonging the interview. Tor, who had seen Maud’s hat over a distant hedge, put his horse to a gallop, and joined her by a flying leap. ‘Phil! how you do startle one! What are you up to now?’ ‘I’ve been talking with our respected uncle. I don’t think he’ll bother us much more. The open defiance will hardly be needed.’ ‘You met Uncle Belassis?’ ‘Yes; I have just parted from him.’ ‘Was he riding?’ ‘Well, I can hardly say that. He sat on his horse, and the horse ran.’ Maud laughed delightedly, and her mind was diverted from the question of the interview, as Tor intended it should be. ‘Oh, Phil,’ she said, ‘there came a letter for you by the mid-day post. It’s from Germany, and I think perhaps it’s from Tor, or about him.’ Tor hastened home with all the speed he could, an eager hope possessing him that he might see at last Phil’s familiar handwriting. CHAPTER V. A VISIT TO GERMANY. But no, the letter was not from Phil; but in the crabbed, minute writing of the German brain-doctor. Tor opened the envelope with haste, and ran his eyes rapidly over its contents, a look of impatience and dismay crossing his face as he did so.