“What’s the matter, Hugh?”
Dr. Chichester flung the question suddenly into the deep silence which had fallen on himself and his son, as they sat together by the study fire on a cold night shortly after Christmas.
They had done a little talking.
Dr. Chichester had said it was a bitter night, and Hugh had assented. The doctor had remarked that a fire and a book were wonderfully soothing after a long day’s work, and Hugh had owned the fact. The doctor had opined that if the frost lasted, there would shortly be skating on the Serpentine. Hugh had agreed to that as well, but in so absent and spiritless a manner that his father plainly saw he took no interest whatever in the skating prospects at the present moment.
And after these attempts at conversation, silence had fallen on them, and the doctor,
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 forgetful of the book upon his knee, closely scrutinised the young face before him, with its dark, sad eyes fixed on the glowing fire.
Hugh had been curiously silent ever since that visit to Donisbro’, his father thought to himself.
And yet, how pleased he had been at being singled out by Sir Anthony to go with him! And he had come back, having done everything required of him successfully enough, so far as his father could make out. But he had been very uncommunicative over his adventures in the quaint cathedral city.
It had been left for Sir Anthony to catch the doctor on the staircase of Blue-friars’ Hospital, and ask him if “the boy had remembered to tell his father that Sir Anthony had said he was a credit to the medical profession.” Hugh had not even mentioned the great man’s rare commendation.
What had he said about that visit? The doctor went over in his own mind the rather bald account which the united efforts of the family had with difficulty pumped out.
Yes, Hugh had seen Sydney. She was looking very well—this in answer to a question from Mrs. Chichester. She had sent her love to them all. There hadn’t been much time;
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 Lady Frederica had been in a great hurry to be off. There was a man with Sydney, a Sir Algernon Bridge. Was he nice?—a query from Dolly. Well, Hugh hadn’t asked him, but considered that he looked a sneery brute, although not wishing to say anything against him. Yes, he had seen Sydney again: she was up the church tower with the Vicar, who seemed a good sort, and his boy, a jolly little chap. The incident of Pauly’s rescue somehow failed to transpire at all. No, he hadn’t been to the Castle—this in reply to some excited inquiries on the subject of merry-go-rounds from Fred and Prissie. He had lunched with the Vicar, who had said that Sydney was interested in the cottages, and took the people soup and things. Hugh didn’t think anything much else had happened. Oh, how was Sydney dressed? He didn’t know—something blue, he thought. No, something red, and fur—a lot of fur. Was she looking pretty? How should he know?
Hugh had become a little irritable at this point, his father recollected: a circumstance almost as unprecedented as his gravity and silence.
What was wrong with the boy?
The keen-eyed doctor noted his dejected
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 attitude, and the wistfulness of the gaze turned so persistently upon the fire. If Hugh was reading his future there it certainly was not a bright one.
Dr. Chichester watched in silence for full another ten minutes, then repeated his question with a hand upon the young man’s knee.
“Hugh, what’s the matter?”
Hugh started and flushed hotly, becoming conscious of his father’s scrutiny. Then he pulled himself together, and said, with a lightness of tone which was rather obviously assumed for convenience’ sake at the moment, “Oh, nothing, sir. I was thinking, that’s all.”
“Then thinking doesn’t seem to agree with you, my boy,” said the doctor.
Hugh raised himself in his chair, and bent forward with some eagerness.
“Father, do you mind if I go out to my chum, Haviland, in New Zealand? He wants a partner and—and—I want to go.”
Dr. Chichester considered.
“You have a very good position at the Blue-friars, Hugh,” he said at length. “Do you want to throw that up?”
Hugh rose, and walked about the room a little restlessly.
“I know it seems foolish,” he said, “but
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 I’ve a fancy for trying new ground, and Haviland is beginning to establish a practice, and——”
“And you want to get as far away from England as you can?” his father quietly suggested.
Hugh’s back was turned towards him and he did not answer. The doctor went to his son, and put an arm through his.
“Sit down............