"Come in," cried the doctor, encouragingly.

Master Cashel Byron entered blushing; made his way awkwardly to his
mother, and kissed the critical expression which was on her upturned
face as she examined his appearance. Being only seventeen, he had
not yet acquired a taste for kissing. He inexpertly gave Mrs. Byron
quite a shock by the collision of their teeth. Conscious of the
failure, he drew himself upright, and tried to hide his hands, which
were exceedingly dirty, in the scanty folds of his jacket. He was a
well-grown youth, with neck and shoulders already strongly formed,
and short auburn hair curling in little rings close to his scalp. He
had blue eyes, and an expression of boyish good-humor, which,
however, did not convey any assurance of good temper.

"How do you do, Cashel?" said Mrs. Byron, in a queenly manner, after
a prolonged look at him.

"Very well, thanks," said he, grinning and avoiding her eye.

"Sit down, Byron," said the doctor. Byron suddenly forgot how to sit
down, and looked irresolutely from one chair to another. The doctor
made a brief excuse, and left the room; much to the relief of his
pupil.

"You have grown greatly, Cashel. And I am afraid you are very
awkward." Cashel colored and looked gloomy.

"I do not know what to do with you," continued Mrs. Byron. "Dr.
Moncrief tells me that you are very idle and rough."