He walked back rapidly to Bashford's Lane, and without giving his courage
time to cool plied the knocker of No. 5 briskly.

The door was opened by an elderly woman, thin, and somewhat querulous in
expression. Mr. Catesby had just time to notice this, and then he flung
his arm round her waist, and hailing her as "Mother!" saluted her warmly.

The faint scream of the astounded Mrs. Truefitt brought her daughter
hastily into the passage. Mr. Catesby's idea was ever to do a thing
thoroughly, and, relinquishing Mrs. Truefitt, he kissed Prudence with all
the ardour which a seven-years' absence might be supposed to engender in
the heart of a devoted brother. In return he received a box on the ears
which made his head ring.

"He's been drinking," gasped the dismayed Mrs. Truefitt.

"Don't you know me, mother?" inquired Mr. Richard Catesby, in grievous
astonishment.

"He's mad," said her daughter.

"Am I so altered that you don't know me, Prudence?" inquired Mr.
Catesby; with pathos. "Don't you know your Fred?"

"Go out," said Mrs. Truefitt, recovering; "go out at once."

Mr. Catesby looked from one to the other in consternation.

"I know I've altered," he said, at last, "but I'd no idea--"