me
contempt for Royal Academicians and, for that matter, for artists
generally. The son is at Oxford, a nice enough young fellow with limpid
blue eyes, who, to his father's disgust, takes no sort of interest in
fox-hunting, racing, football, or any other sport, and has openly
asserted his intention of entering the Church in the near future. There
are two other girls, Gwendoline and Ethel--the latter, by the way,
promises to be a second edition of her mother--who, at present, are in
the advanced schoolroom stage, dine with their parents, except on state
occasions, and play duets together on the piano with a conscientious
regard for time and fingering that gives their father no small amount of
pleasure, but with other people rather detracts from the beauty of the
performance.

"Thank goodness we have got you at last!" cried Merridew, as he rushed
forward and gripped my hand with a cordiality that made me suffer in
silent agony for minutes afterward. "But, my dear fellow, what on earth
induces you to live in a place that's so difficult to find? We have been
all round the neighbourhood, here, there, and everywhere, making
inquiries, and shouldn't have found you now had it not been for an
intelligent butcher-boy, who put us on the right scent and enabled us to
run you to earth at last."

"Such is fame, you see," I answered with a smile. "One should be humble
when one reflects that the knowledge of one's address is confined to a
butcher-boy.--How do you do, Mrs. Merridew? I am sorry you should have
had so much difficulty in discovering my poor abode."

I shook hands with the rest of the family, and when I had done so,
waited to be informed as to the reason of their visit.

"Now, look here," said the squire, as he spoke producing an enormous
gold repeater from his pocket, which by sheer force of habit he held in
his hand, though he never once looked at it, during the time he was
speaking. "I'll tell you what we're going to do. In the first place
you're to take us to the Academy to see your picture, which every one is
talking about, and at the same time to act as showman and tell us who's
who. After that you'll dine with us at the Langham, and go to the
theatre afterward. No, no, it's not a bit of use you're pretending
you've got another engagement. We don't come up to town very often, but
when we do we enjoy ourselves, and--why, man alive! just consider--I
haven't seen you since last autumn, and if you think I am going to