e of the judges, and she much regretted that she could not
promise a visit from her doctor that evening, as he was likely to be
detained all night.

Dermot came downstairs with us, and we found Mr. Yolland waiting at the
door to extract a final promise that Harold would go to bed at once on
coming home. It seemed that he had laughed at the recommendation, so
that the young surgeon felt bound to enforce it before all of us,
adding that it was a kind of hurt that no one could safely neglect.
There was something in his frank, brusque manner that pleased Harold,
and he promised with half a smile, thanking the doctor hastily as he
did so, while Dermot Tracy whispered to me, "Good luck getting him;
twice as ready as the old one;" and then vehemently shaking all our
hands, to make up for Harold's not being fit to touch, he promised to
come and see him on the morrow. The moment we were all in the
carriage--Eustace still too much shaken to drive home--his first
question was, who _that_ was?

"Mr. Tracy," I answered; and Eustace added, "I thought you called him
Dermont?"

"Dermot--Dermot Tracy. I have known him all our lives."

"I saw he was a gentleman by his boots," quoth Eustace with
deliberation, holding out his own foot as a standard. "I saw they were
London made."

"How fortunate that you had not on your Sydney ones," I could not help
saying in mischief.

"I took care of that," was the complacent answer. "I told Richardson
to take them all away."

I don't think Harold saw the fun. They had neither of them any humour;
even Harold was much too simple and serious.

Eustace next treated us to a piece of his well-conned manual, and
demonstrated that Dermot St. Glear Tracy, Esquire, of Killy Marey,
County Cavan, Ireland, was grandson to an English peer, great grandson
to an Irish peer, and nephew to the existing Edward St. Glear, 6th Earl
of Erymanth. "And a very fashionable young man," he went on,
"distinguished in the sporting world."

"An excellent good fellow, with plenty of pluck," said Harold warmly.
"Is he not brother to the pretty little girl who was with you when we
came?"

I answered as briefly as I could; I did not want to talk of the Tracys.
My heart was very sore about them, and I was almost relieved when Dora
broke in with a grave accusing tone: "Harry, Eustace drank a glass of
wine, and I said I would tell you!"

"Eustace has no reason to prevent him," was Harold's quiet answer.

"And, reall