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64 Arabella kissed her son's forehead, and then his sisters kissed him, and one or two of his lady-cousins; and then Miss Bateson shook him by the hand. 'Oh, Miss Bateson,' said he, 'I thought the kissing was to go all round.' So Miss Bateson laughed and went her way; and Patience Oriel nodded at him, but Mary Thorne, as she quietly left the room, almost hidden among the extensive draperies of the grander ladies, hardly allowed her eyes to meet his.

He got up to hold the door for them as they passed; and as they went, he managed to take Patience by the hand; he took her hand and pressed it for a moment, but dropped it quickly, in order that he might go through the same ceremony with Mary, but Mary was too quick for him.

'Frank,' said Mr. Gresham, as soon as the door was closed, 'bring your glass here, my boy;' and the father made room for his son close beside himself. 'The ceremony is over now, so you may leave your place of dignity.' Frank sat himself down where he was told, and Mr. Gresham put his hand on his son's shoulder and half caressed him, while the tears stood in his eyes. 'I think the doctor is right, Baker, I think he'll never make us ashamed of him.'

'I am sure he never will,' said Mr. Baker.

'I don't think he ever will,' said Dr. Thorne.

The tones of the men's voices were very different. Mr. Baker did not care a straw about it; why should he? He had an heir of his own as well as the squire; one also who was the apple of his eye. But the doctor,—he did care; he had a niece, to be sure, whom he loved, perhaps as well as these men loved their sons; but there was room in his heart also for young Frank Gresham.

After this small exposé of feeling they sat silent for a moment or two. But silence was not dear to the heart of the Honourable John, and so he took up the running.

'That's a niceish nag you gave Frank this morning,' said he to his uncle. 'I was looking at him before dinner. He is a Monsoon, isn't he?'

'Well, I can't say I know how he was bred,' said the squire. 'He shows a good deal of breeding.'

'He's a Monsoon, I'm sure,' said the Honourable John. 'They've all those ears, and that peculiar dip in the back. I suppose you gave a goodish figure for him?'

'Not so very much,' said the squire.

'He's a trained hunter, I suppose?'

'If not, he soon will be,' said the squire.

'Let Frank alone for that,' said Harry Baker.