pocket, papers of the ore, in every stage of manufacture, and
twisting them up so carelessly, that they would have become a mass of
confusion, had not Mary undertaken the repacking.

As they approached the house, the library window was thrown up, and
Mrs. Frost came hurrying down with outstretched arms. She was met by
her young nephew with an overflow of fond affection, before he looked
up and beheld his father standing upright and motionless on the
highest step. His excuses were made more lightly and easily than
seemed to suit such rigid looks; but Lord Ormersfield bent his head
as if resigning himself perforce to the explanation, and, with the
softened voice in which he always spoke to Mrs. Ponsonby, said, 'Here
he is--Louis, you remember your cousin.'

She was positively startled; for it was as if his mother's deep blue
eyes were raised to hers, and there were the same regular delicate
features, fair, transparent complexion, and glossy light-brown hair
tinted with gold--the same careless yet deprecating glance, the same
engaging smile that warmed her heart to him at once, in spite of an
air which was not that of wisdom.

'How little altered you are!' she exclaimed. 'If you were not taller
than your father, I should say you were the same Louis that I left
fourteen years ago.'

'I fear that is the chief change,' said Lord Ormersfield.

'A boy that would be a boy all his life, like Sir Thomas More's son!'
said Louis, coolly and simply, but with a twinkle in the corner of
his eye, as if he said it on purpose to be provoking; and Mrs. Frost