"Yea, my eyes _are_ good, and I see a good many things, but I _don't_
see why you should have muffled that shot, particularly as my
intelligence was meant for the world in general, and it was not such an
astounding remark, after all."

Charley did not seem ready with a reply, so he retained his look of
injured innocence, and walked on, sucking silently at his cigar. The
Raymonds reached the house before us; but, not being in a presentable
state, I did not see them before dinner.

Forrester was right; there was nothing startling about Mr. Raymond. He
had one of those thin, high-bred looking faces that one always fancies
would have suited admirably the powder and ruffles of the last century.
It expressed little except perfect repose, and when he spoke, which was
but seldom, no additional light came into his hard blue eyes. His
daughter was his absolute contrast--a lovely, delicate little creature,
with silky dark-brown hair, and eyes _en suite_, and color that deepened
and faded twenty times in an hour, without ever losing the softness of
its tints. She had the ways of a child petted all its life through, that
a harsh word would frighten to annihilation. She seemed very fond of
Guy, though evidently rather afraid of him at times.

Nothing passed at dinner worth mentioning; but soon after the ladies
left us, Mr. Raymond turned lazily to his nephew to inquire,

"If he would mind asking Bruce to come and stay at Kerton, as he was to
be in the neighborhood soon after Christmas."

He did not seem to feel the faintest interest in the reply.