He realised also, somewhat with surprise, that Francis was "no good" when there was trouble about; there was no one so delightful when there was, so to speak, a contest of who should enjoy himself the most, and Francis invariably won.

But if the subject of the contest was changed, and the prize given for the individual who, under depressing circumstances, should contrive to show the greatest serenity of aspect, Francis would have lost with an even greater margin.

Michael, in fact, was rather relieved than otherwise at his cousin's immediate departure, for it helped nobody to see the martyred St.Sebastian, and it was merely odious for St.Sebastian himself.

In fact, at this moment, when Michael was rowing them back across the full-flooded estuary, Francis was explaining this with his customary lucidity.
"I don't do any good here, Mike," he said.

"Uncle Robert doesn't speak to me any more than he does to you, except when Aunt Marion is there.
And there's nothing going on, is there?
I practically asked if I might go duck-shooting to-day, and Uncle Robert merely looked out of the window.