ill. A gas-light was burning over the fire-place, but the corners were
in gloom, and the coats and cloaks looked like human figures in the
distance. Phoebe waited while Robert lighted her candle for her. Albeit
she was not nervous, she started when a door was sharply pushed open, and
another figure appeared; but it was nothing worse than her brother
Mervyn, in easy costume, and redolent of tobacco.

About three years older than Robert, he was more neatly though not so
strongly made, shorter, and with more regular features, but much less
countenance. If the younger brother had a worn and dejected aspect, the
elder, except in moments of excitement, looked _bored_. It was as if
Robert really had the advantage of him in knowing what to be out of
spirits about.

'Oh! it's you, is it?' said he, coming forward, with a sauntering,
scuffling movement in his slippers. 'You larking, Phoebe? What next?'

'I have been drinking tea with Miss Charlecote,' explained Phoebe.

Mervyn slightly shrugged his shoulders, murmuring something about 'Lively
pastime.'

'I could not fetch her sooner,' said Robert, 'for my father went to
sleep, and no one chose to be at the pains of entertaining Crabbe.'

'Ay--a prevision of his staying to dinner made me stay and dine with the
--th mess. Very sagacious--eh, Pheebe?' said he, turning, as if he liked
to look into her fresh face.

'Too sagacious,' said she, smiling; 'for you left him all to Robert.'

Manner and look expressed that this was a matter of no concern, and he
said ungraciously: 'Nobody detained Robert, it was his own concern.'

'Respect to my father and his guests,' said Robert, with downright
gravity that gave it the effect of a reproach.

Mervyn only raised his shoulders up to his ears in contempt, took up his
candle, and wished Phoebe good night.

Poor Mervyn Fulmort! Discontent had been his life-long comrade. He
detested his father's occupation as galling to family pride, yet was
greedy both of the profits and the management. He hated country business
and country life, yet chafed at not having the control of his mother's
estate, and grumbled at all his father's measures. 'What should an old
distiller know of landed property?' In fact he saw the same difference
between himself and his father as did the ungracious Plantagenet between
the son of a Count and the son of a King: and for want of Provencal
troubadours with whom to rebel, he supplied their place by the tu