eflection on himself.

"Roger, my boy," said he, "you are fortunate to have somebody to look
well after you. I quite agree with the doctor; we must drive home. I
hope your things are dry."

"He's made me change everything I had on," said Roger.

"Quite right--quite right!"

The doctor took an opportunity before the fly arrived of talking to the
Captain seriously about his ward's health.

"He's not robust, you can see that yourself," said he, "and he won't
take care of himself, that's equally evident. You must make him do it,
or I won't answer for the consequences."

The Captain laughed pleasantly. "My duties grow on me apace," said he.
"I have come over from India to look after his morals, his estate, his
education, and now I find I must add to them the oversight of--"

"Of his flannels. Certainly; see they are well aired, that's more
important than any of the others. Good-bye!"

The Maxfield household was a dismal one that evening. Mrs Ingleton in
distress had prevailed on Roger to go to bed. Miss Rosalind, defrauded
in one day of her two allies, sulked in a dignified way in her own room,
and visited her displeasure with the world in general on poor Jill, who
consoled herself by beginning a letter to her "dear Mr Armstrong."
Tom, having wandered joyously over the whole house, making friends with
everybody and admiring everything, was engaged in the feverish
occupation of trying to find his stamp album, which he had left behind
in India.

The only serene member of the party was Captain Oliphant, who in the
arm-chair of the library smoked an excellent cigar and ruminated on
things at large.

"Poor lad!" said he to himself, "great pity he's so delicate. Not at
all a pleasant cough--quite a churchyard tone about it. Tut! tut! I'm
not favourably impressed with that doctor; an officious bumpkin, he
seems to me. And this Armstrong--I should really like to know a little
more about him. Pottinger was decidedly of my way of thinking. Not a
nice fellow at all, Armstrong. Wrong sort of companion for Roger. Poor
fellow! how he's coughing to-night."

And this kindly soul actually laid down his cigar and went out into the
passage to listen.

"Shocking cough," said he as he returned and relit his cigar. Then he
took out a document from his pocket--a copy of the will, in fact--and
read it again. Which done, he relapsed into genial meditation ones
more.

Presently his kindly feelings prompted him to pa