"Good morning, Miss Challoner," said Reginald politely, mindful of the presence of Miss Cassy. "I have called by the desire of Dr. Larcher to see how the squire is." "Oh, better, much better," interposed Miss Cassy before Una could speak. "I said it was nerves all along--so very odd--quite excitable he was, but the dear doctor's medicine you know--so soothing, really very soothing--I don't know what the dear squire will do without the dear doctor." "He's not going to do without him, aunt," said Una with a smile; "my cousin is afraid of getting ill again, so has asked Dr. Nestley to stay down here for a few weeks to complete the cure." "What about his own practice?" asked Reginald. "Oh, he says that will be all right, as he has left it in charge of his partner. Have you met Dr. Nestley?" "Yes, at the gates; he has gone back to Garsworth with Mr. Beaumont." "Beaumont," said Miss Cassy with vivacity, "that is the painter, very odd, isn't it? he's going to paint the dear squire's picture--how nice." "Why does the squire want his picture painted?" inquired Blake. Una laughed. "Not for his beauty, at all events," she said mischievously, "but, you know, there is only one picture of him in the gallery--as a young man. I presume this will be for the sake of contrast. Do you know Mr. Beaumont?" "Slightly. He's a stranger here," replied Blake, a little coldly. "I should say he was a very clever man--but he is hardly the style I care about." "He looks wicked," said Miss Cassy, nodding her head sagely; "worn, you know--oh, shocking!--but very handsome--just the kind of man I would like for a son." "Oh, aunt!" said Una, slightly shocked. "Well, I would, Una. You know I should like to have been married--I'm sure I don't know why I haven't been married," said the poor lady, pathetically. "I'm sure anyone can see I'm not made for a spinster--it's so odd, isn't it?" Blake, being directly appealed to, suppressed a smile, and, and assented politely; whereupon Miss Cassy resumed: "It's so hard for an unmarried girl to know when to leave off being a girl--I'm sure I don't know--ivy, you know, I feel like it; I'm made to cling to a manly oak--no, I mean an oakly man--no! not that--mixed, you see! I mean a man like an oak--yes, that's it, and then I might have had twelve stalwart sons--all oaks! Odd, isn't it?--most peculiar." "My dear aunt, what curious things you say!" said Una, looking reproachfully at Reggy, who was trying to smother his laughter. "Yes, I know, dear," replied Miss Cassy, complacently, "we're all odd--nerves--quite chronic; anyone can see that it comes of being an ivy--I mean a woman--so very nice--yes, I always say so--don't you, Mr. Blake?" Reginald could not exactly say he did, as he was in doubt as to what Miss Cassy meant, but made some confused answer, and then asked to see Patience Allerby.