“Hello! Have none of you ever moved for the last ten years?”
At the summons every one was startled. The young men scrambled to their feet. The Dean rose and glared at the intruder, who sprang over the wall, recklessly broke through the rose-bushes and advanced with outstretched hand to meet him.
“Hello, Uncle Edward!”
“Goodness gracious me!” cried the Dean. “It’s Oliver!”
“Right first time,” said the young man, gripping him by the hand. “You’re not looking a day older. And Aunt Sophia——” He strode up to Mrs. Conover and kissed her. “Do you know,” he went on, holding her at arm’s length and looking round at the astonished company, “the last time I saw you all you were doing just the same! I peeped over the wall just before I went away, just such a summer afternoon as this, and you were all sitting round drinking the same old lemonade out of the same old jug—and, Lady Bruce, you were here, and you, Sir Archibald”—he shook hands with them rapidly. “You haven’t changed a bit. And you—good Lord! Is this Peggy?” He put his hand on the Dean’s shoulder and pointed at the girl.
“That’s Peggy,” said the Dean.
“You’re the only thing that’s grown. I used to gallop with you on my shoulders all round the lawn. I suppose you remember? How do you do?”
And without waiting for an answer he kissed her soundly. It was all done with whirlwind suddenness. The tempestuous young man had scattered every one’s wits. All stared at him. Releasing Peggy——
“My holy aunt!” he cried, “there’s another of ’em. It’s Doggie! You were in the old picture, and I’m blessed if you weren’t wearing the same beautiful grey suit. How do, Doggie?”
He gripped Doggie’s hand. Doggie’s lips grew white.