y. There was no denying that Cyril
looked older--even these few days had worked some indefinable change in
him. He was not ill, though he could not be said to be well; but there
had come to him a certain settled look that one sees on the faces of
middle-aged men who have a large amount of care. And there were dark
circles round his eyes, as though sleep had to be wooed with some degree
of difficulty.

'You are tolerably youthful still, Blake,' he said, not liking to admit
that he saw this change in him.

'Am I? I should not have said so from my own feelings. I fancy youth is
rather a relative term; but I must acknowledge that Mr. Unwin treated me
with a great deal of consideration. I know what you have told him; but
he scarcely alluded to it, except in the most distant way: indeed, I am
very grateful to him for his delicacy.'

'I told you from the first that he was a good fellow. Unwin is what I
call an all-round man. He is a bit fussy over his hobbies, but as long
as you keep Charles the First out of your conversation I fancy it will
be plain sailing. I hope you are not bursting with the subject, as the
immortal Mr. Dick was, when he found himself compelled to fly his kites;
but it is a fact that Unwin is a bit cranky about him.'

'Thank you for warning me,' returned Cyril, with a grave smile; 'now, my
next business will be to look out for some lodgings within an easy
distance of Cromwell Road. I have trespassed on your kind hospitality
long enough.'

'Nonsense!' returned Michael bluntly. 'I expected you to stop on here
for at least another month. I shall go back to Rutherford in a fortnight
or so; but that would not make any difference to you: my old woman
would be delighted to cook for you, and make you comfortable. You know,
her husband was an old corporal in our regiment; but an amputated leg,
and a little bit of money coming to his wife, made him fall out of the
ranks. I have lodged with them for about ten years, and I have been in
no hurry to change my quarters.'

'No--they are very comfortable; but the fact is, Burnett, my mother
gives me no peace. She writes every day to beg me to take her away from
Rutherford. She says she will never go outside the gate as long as she
remains there. I imagine she has a nervous dread of meeting my father;
besides, she says everyone will be talking about her.'

'I do not believe a single person in Rutherford has begun to talk.'

'So I tell her; but she will not believe