kwardness. "Does he remember me?"

"Vividly."

Vivid also was Rickie's remembrance of him.

"A splendid fellow," asserted Mr. Pembroke.

"I hope that Agnes is well."

"Thank you, yes; she is well. And I think you're looking more like other
people yourself."

"I've been having a very good time with a friend."

"Indeed. That's right. Who was that?"

Rickie had a young man's reticence. He generally spoke of "a friend,"
"a person I know," "a place I was at." When the book of life is opening,
our readings are secret, and we are unwilling to give chapter and verse.
Mr. Pembroke, who was half way through the volume, and had skipped or
forgotten the earlier pages, could not understand Rickie's hesitation,
nor why with such awkwardness he should pronounce the harmless
dissyllable "Ansell."

"Ansell? Wasn't that the pleasant fellow who asked us to lunch?"

"No. That was Anderson, who keeps below. You didn't see Ansell. The ones
who came to breakfast were Tilliard and Hornblower."

"Of course. And since then you have been with the Silts. How are they?"

"Very well, thank you. They want to be remembered to you."

The Pembrokes had formerly lived near the Elliots, and had shown great
kindness to Rickie when his parents died. They were thus rather in the
position of family friends.

"Please remember us when you write." He added, almost roguishly, "The
Silts are kindness itself. All the same, it must be just a little--dull,
we thought, and we thought that you might like a change. And of course
we are delighted to have you besides. That goes without saying."

"It's very good of you," said Rickie, who had accepted the invitation
because he felt he ought to.

"Not a bit. And you mustn't expect us to be otherwise than quiet on the
holidays. There is a library of a sort, as you know, and you will find
Gerald a splendid fellow."

"Will they be married soon?"

"Oh no!" whispered Mr. Pembroke, shutting his eyes, as if Rickie had
made some terrible faux pas. "It will be a very long engagement. He must
make his way first. I have seen such endless misery result from people
marrying before they have made their way."

"Yes. That is so," said Rickie despondently, thinking of the Silts.

"It's a sad unpalatable truth," said Mr. Pembroke, thinking that the
despondency might be personal, "but one must accept it. My sister and
Gerald, I am thankful to say, have accepted it, though naturally it has
been a little pill."

Their