No, you'll get on excellently well without me. I've had a long walk,
and I think I'll go to bed."

"You don't look very well, papa."

"Oh, yes, I'm well enough; only confused in the head a little with
fatigue and the things I've had to think about. Good-night. Don't keep
those young fellows late, though one of them is your brother. You can
say I'm tired. Good-night, my dear."

It was very seldom that he called her "my dear," or, indeed, said
anything affectionate to his grown-up children. If Ursula had not been
so eager to return to the drawing-room, and so sure that "they" would
miss her, she would have been anxious about her father; but as it was,
she ran upstairs lightly when he stopped speaking, and left him going
into the study, where already his lamp was burning. Betsy passed her as
she ran up the stairs, coming from the kitchen with a letter held
between two folds of her apron. Poor papa! no doubt it was some tiresome
parish business to bother him, when he was tired already. But Ursula did
not stop for that. How she wanted to be there again, among "them all,"
even though Janey still made one! She went in breathless, and gave her
father's message only half-articulately. He was tired. "We are never to
mind; he says so." They all took the intimation very easily. Mr. May
being tired, what did that matter? He would, no doubt, be better
to-morrow; and in the mean time those sweet hours, though so hampered by
Janey, were very sweet.

Betsy went in, and put down the note before Mr. May on his table. He was
just taking out his medicine from the drawer, and he made a wry face at
the note and at the pills together.

"Parish?" he said, curtly.

"No, sir; it's from Mr. Cotsdean. He came this morning, after you'd
gone, and he sent over little Bobby."

"That will do."

A presentiment of pain stole over him. He gave Betsy a nod of dismissal,
and went on with what he was doing. After he had finished, he took up
the little note from the table with a look of disgust. It was badly
scrawled, badly folded, and dirty. Thank Heaven, Cotsdean's
communications would soon be over now.

Janey had proposed a round game upstairs. They were all humble in their
desire to conciliate that young despot. Reginald got the cards, and
Northcote put chairs round the table. He placed Ursula next to himself,
which was a consolation, and sat down by her, close to her, though not a
word, except of the most commonplace kind, could be said.

Jus