He was to meet his bride at the church at a quarter past eleven.  His watch said a quarter to ten.  He strolled on beneath the long-stemmed trees toward the well dedicated to a saint obscure.  Some people were drinking at the well.  A florid lady stood by a younger one, who had a little silver mug half-way to her mouth, and evinced undisguised dislike to the liquor of the salutary saint.

“Drink, child!” said the maturer lady.  “That is only your second mug.  I insist upon your drinking three full ones every morning we’re in town.  Your constitution positively requires iron!”

“But, mama,” the other expostulated, “it’s so nasty.  I shall be sick.”

“Drink!” was the harsh injunction.  “Nothing to the German waters, my dear.  Here, let me taste.”  She took the mug and gave it a flying kiss.  “I declare I think it almost nice—­not at all objectionable.  Pray, taste it,” she said to a gentleman standing below them to act as cup-bearer.

An unmistakable cis-Rubicon voice replied:  “Certainly, if it’s good fellowship; though I confess I don’t think mutual sickness a very engaging ceremony.”

Can one never escape from one’s relatives?  Richard ejaculated inwardly.

Without a doubt those people were Mrs. Doria, Clare, and Adrian.  He had them under his eyes.

Clare, peeping up from her constitutional dose to make sure no man was near to see the possible consequence of it, was the first to perceive him.  Her hand dropped.

“Now, pray, drink, and do not fuss!” said Mrs. Doria.

“Mama!” Clare gasped.

Richard came forward and capitulated honourably, since retreat was out of the question.  Mrs. Doria swam to meet him:  “My own boy!  My dear Richard!” profuse of exclamations.  Clare shyly greeted him.  Adrian kept in the background.

“Why, we were coming for you to-day, Richard,” said Mrs. Doria, smiling effusion; and rattled on, “We want another cavalier.  This is delightful!  My dear nephew!  You have grown from a boy to a man.  And there’s down on his lip!  And what brings you here at such an hour in the morning?  Poetry, I suppose!  Here, take my, arm, child.—­Clare! finish that mug and thank your cousin for sparing you the third.  I always bring her, when we are by a chalybeate, to take the waters before breakfast.  We have to get up at unearthly hours.  Think, my dear boy!  Mothers are sacrifices!  And so you’ve been alone a fortnight with your agreeable uncle!  A charming time of it you must have had!  Poor Hippias! what may be his last nostrum?”

“Nephew!” Adrian stretched his head round to the couple.  “Doses of nephew taken morning and night fourteen days!  And he guarantees that it shall destroy an iron constitution in a month.”

Richard mechanically shook Adrian’s hand as he spoke.

“Quite well, Ricky?”

“Yes:  well enough,” Richard answered.