He was, therefore, rather surprised at a coldness in Lady Blandish’s manner when he did appear.  “At last!” said the lady, in a sad way that sounded reproachfully.  Now the Scientific Humanist had, of course, nothing to reproach himself with.

But where was Richard?

Adrian positively averred he was not with his wife.

“If he had gone,” said the baronet, “he would have anticipated me by a few hours.”

This, when repeated to Lady Blandish, should have propitiated her, and shown his great forgiveness.  She, however, sighed, and looked at him wistfully.

Their converse was not happy and deeply intimate.  Philosophy did not seem to catch her mind; and fine phrases encountered a rueful assent, more flattering to their grandeur than to their influence.

Days went by.  Richard did not present himself.  Sir Austin’s pitch of self-command was to await the youth without signs of impatience.

Seeing this, the lady told him her fears for Richard, and mentioned the rumour of him that was about.

“If,” said the baronet, “this person, his wife, is what you paint her, I do not share your fears for him.  I think too well of him.  If she is one to inspire the sacredness of that union, I think too well of him.  It is impossible.”

The lady saw one thing to be done.

“Call her to you,” she said.  “Have her with you at Raynham.  Recognize her.  It is the disunion and doubt that so confuses him and drives him wild.  I confess to you I hoped he had gone to her.  It seems not.  If she is with you his way will be clear.  Will you do that?”

Science is notoriously of slow movement.  Lady Blandish’s proposition was far too hasty for Sir Austin.  Women, rapid by nature, have no idea of science.

“We shall see her there in time, Emmeline.  At present let it be between me and my son.”

He spoke loftily.  In truth it offended him to be asked to do anything, when he had just brought himself to do so much.

A month elapsed, and Richard appeared on the scene.

The meeting between him and his father was not what his father had expected and had crooned over in the Welsh mountains.  Richard shook his hand respectfully, and inquired after his health with the common social solicitude.  He then said:  “During your absence, sir, I have taken the liberty, without consulting you, to do something in which you are more deeply concerned than myself.  I have taken upon myself to find out my mother and place her under my care.  I trust you will not think I have done wrong.  I acted as I thought best.”

Sir Austin replied:  “You are of an age, Richard, to judge for yourself in such a case.  I would have you simply beware of deceiving yourself in imagining that you considered any one but yourself in acting as you did.”

“I have not deceived myself, sir,” said Richard, and the interview was over.  Both hated an exposure of the feelings, and in that both were satisfied:  but the baronet, as one who loves, hoped and looked for tones indicative of trouble and delight in the deep heart; and Richard gave him none of those.  The young man did not even face him as he spoke:  if their eyes met by chance, Richard’s were defiantly cold.  His whole bearing was changed.