tion in her little steel-grey eyes, nor of decision
in her manner.

"I see," she said, "that you've taken a line of your own, Eustace. I've
nothing to say against that; in fact, quite the contrary. But remember
this, my dear, however you may change you mustn't wobble. Only one thing
counts in that place, hitting the same nail on the head with the same
hammer all the time. You aren't looking at all well."

Miltoun, bending to kiss her, murmured:

"Thanks, I'm all right."

"Nonsense," replied Lady Casterley. "They don't look after you. Was
your mother in the House?"

"I don't think so."

"Exactly. And what is Barbara about? She ought to be seeing to you."

"Barbara is down with Uncle Dennis."

Lady Casterley set her jaw; then looking her grandson through and
through, said:

"I shall take you down there this very day. I shall have the sea to you.
What do you say, Clifton?"

"His lordship does look pale."

"Have the carriage, and we'll go from Clapham Junction. Thomas can go in
and fetch you some clothes. Or, better, though I dislike them, we can
telephone to your mother for a car. It's very hot for trains. Arrange
that, please, Clifton!"

To this project Miltoun raised no objection. And all through the drive
he remained sunk in an indifference and lassitude which to Lady Casterley
seemed in the highest degree ominous. For lassitude, to her, was the
strange, the unpardonable, state. The little great lady--casket of the
aristocratic principle--was permeated to the very backbone with the
instinct of artificial energy, of that alert vigour which those who have
nothing socially to hope for are forced to develop, lest they should
decay and be again obliged to hope. To speak honest truth, she could not
forbear an itch to run some sharp and foreign substance into her
grandson, to rouse him somehow, for she knew the reason of his state, and
was temperamentally out of patience with such a cause for backsliding.
Had it been any other of her grandchildren she would not have hesitated,
but there was that in Miltoun which held even Lady Casterley in check,
and only once during the four hours of travel did she attempt to break
down his reserve. She did it in a manner very soft for her--was he not of
all living things the hope and pride of her heart? Tucking her little
thin sharp hand under his arm, she said quietly:

"My dear, don't brood over it. That will never do."

But Miltoun removed her hand gently