e shook hands cordially, but James fancied she tried to conceal a
slight look of annoyance. He saw his visit was inopportune.

"We're having a little tennis-party," she said, "It seems a pity to
waste the fine weather, doesn't it?"

A shout of laughter came from the lawn, and a number of voices were
heard talking loudly. Mrs. Larcher glanced towards them uneasily; she
felt that James would expect them to be deeply mourning for the dead
son, and it was a little incongruous that on his first visit he should
find the whole family so boisterously gay.

"Shall we go out to them?" said Mrs. Larcher. "We're just going to have
tea, and I'm sure you must be dying for some. If you'd let us know you
were coming we should have sent to meet you."

James had divined that if he came at a fixed hour they would all have
tuned their minds to a certain key, and he would see nothing of their
natural state.

They went to the lawn, and James was introduced to a pair of buxom,
healthy-looking girls, panting a little after their violent exercise.
They were dressed in white, in a rather masculine fashion, and the only
sign of mourning was the black tie that each wore in a sailor's knot.
They shook hands vigorously (it was a family trait), and then seemed at
a loss for conversation; James, as was his way, did not help them, and
they plunged at last into a discussion about the weather and the
dustiness of the road from Ashford to their house.

Presently a loose-limbed young man strolled up, and was presented to
James. He appeared on friendly terms with the two girls, who called him
Bobbikins.

"How long have you been back?" he asked. "I was out in the Imperial
Yeomanry--only I got fever and had to come home."

James stiffened himself a little, with the instinctive dislike of the
regular for the volunteer.

"Oh, yes! Did you go as a trooper?"

"Yes; and pretty rough it was, I can tell you."

He began to talk of his experience in a resonant voice, apparently
well-pleased with himself, while the red-faced girls looked at him
admiringly. James wondered whether the youth intended to marry them
both.

The conversation was broken by the appearance of Mr. Larcher, a
rosy-cheeked and be-whiskered man, dapper and suave. He had been picking
flowers, and handed a bouquet to one of his guests. James fancied he was
a prosperous merchant, who had retired and set up as a country
gentleman; but if he was the least polished of the family, he was als