"Good Lord, yes!" said Jim, becoming aware of his relative's presence. "You'd better go up, Timothy."

Mr. Harte said with dignity, and in muted tones, that it was unnecessary for Jim to stick his oar in. He cherished in his bosom a considerable affection for his stepbrother and passionately admired his athletic prowess. He quoted him upon all occasions and acquired reflected glory from retailing his exploits upon the Rugger field or the race track, but would have thought it unseemly to give Jim any cause to suspect this veneration. So when Jim, bidding him farewell, said: "I'm coming down next week," he betrayed no flattering pleasure at these welcome tidings but merely replied that he would try and bear up till then.

Silas came back into the room as Jim was saying good-bye to his great-aunt. He wore the satisfied expression of a man who has sped the last of his guests, and remarked that he fancied the party had gone off very well.

"H'm!" said Emily. She looked at him under her brows. "Joe tried to get you to advance money for his harebrained scheme. I hope you sent him off with a flea in his ear. Such nonsense!"

"I'm afraid Joe and I don't see eye to eye over it," Silas answered. "You off, my boy?"

"He'd better stay the night. There's a fog."

"Why, certainly!" Silas agreed. "But it's only a bit of a mist, Mother. Nothing to alarm anyone. I shall take my usual walk."

"You still stick to that, sir?" Jim said, smiling.

"If I didn't I should not enjoy a wink of sleep all night," replied Silas. "Wet or fine, I must have my stroll before going to bed."

"Fiddle!" said Emily in an exasperated voice. "If you didn't think you had insomnia you'd sleep the clock round! I don't have insomnia: why should you?"

"Indeed, I wish I knew," said Silas.