bserved Lady Blandish.

"If he said he would come, he will come," Sir Austin interjected.
Between him and the lady there was something of a contest secretly going
on. He was conscious that nothing save perfect success would now hold
this self-emancipating mind. She had seen him through.

"He declared to me he would be certain to come," said Ripton; but he
could look at none of them as he said it, for he was growing aware
that Richard might have deceived him, and was feeling like a black
conspirator against their happiness. He determined to tell the baronet
what he knew, if Richard did not come by twelve.

"What is the time?" he asked Hippias in a modest voice.

"Time for me to be in bed," growled Hippias, as if everybody present had
been treating him badly.

Mrs. Berry came in to apprise Lucy that she was wanted above. She
quietly rose. Sir Austin kissed her on the forehead, saying: "You had
better not come down again, my child." She kept her eyes on him. "Oblige
me by retiring for the night," he added. Lucy shook their hands, and
went out, accompanied by Mrs. Doria.

"This agitation will be bad for the child," he said, speaking to himself
aloud.

Lady Blandish remarked: "I think she might just as well have returned.
She will not sleep."

"She will control herself for the child's sake."

"You ask too much of her."

"Of her, not," he emphasized.

It was twelve o'clock when Hippies shut his watch, and said with
vehemence: "I'm convinced my circulation gradually and steadily
decreases!"

"Going back to the pre-Harvey period!" murmured Adrian as he wrote.

Sir Austin and Lady Blandish knew well that any comment would introduce
them to the interior of his machinery, the eternal view of which was
sufficiently harrowing; so they maintained a discreet reserve. Taking
it for acquiescence in his deplorable condition, Hippies resumed
despairingly: "It's a fact. I've brought you to see that. No one can be
more moderate than I am, and yet I get worse. My system is organically
sound--I believe: I do every possible thing, and yet I get worse. Nature
never forgives! I'll go to bed."

The Dyspepsy departed unconsoled.

Sir Austin took up his brother's thought: "I suppose nothing short of a
miracle helps us when we have offended her."

"Nothing short of a quack satisfies us," said Adrian, applying wax to an
envelope of official dimensions.

Ripton sat accusing his soul of cowardice while they talked; haunted by
Luc