Brendon was much astonished a day or two later to receive an invitation to dine with his grandfather. After the somewhat stormy interview he had participated in with the old tyrant, George certainly never expected to be treated well by the man whose path he had crossed. He had heard many tales of Derrington's pride, and of his relentless pursuit of those whom he conceived had done him wrong. As George had fought the old man with his own weapons, and had come off victor, he did not expect to be pardoned.

But in this he was wrong. Derrington, sickened with Walter's milk-and-water ways, saw in Brendon a worthy successor who would be able to hold his own in will and word, and would shed fresh luster on the house. Had George been polite, and what the old lord sneeringly called cringing, he would never have received the invitation. As it was, Derrington took him to his hard old heart. He chuckled to think of Walter's dismay when he heard that he had an elder cousin and would not be likely to inherit the title or the money.

However astonished, Brendon was too much a man-of-the-world to reveal his feelings. On the evening in question he presented himself at the mansion in St. Giles Square, scrupulously groomed and brushed. Derrington looked approvingly on his dress, which set off a handsome figure to advantage.

Also the haughty bearing of Brendon pleased him, and he unbent so far as to advance to George with outstretched hand.

"We had rather a rough interview, George," he said, "so I have invited you to smoke the pipe of peace."

Brendon shook the old man's hand quietly, but without much enthusiasm. He could not conjecture what Derrington meant by behaving in a way so different to that he usually adopted. His host felt the slack hand-clasp, and winced on seeing the want of response in Brendon's face. Queerly enough Derrington, contrary to accepted opinion, had a heart, and was so much taken with George that he wished to draw him to himself. Still, he could not but admit that seeing how he had treated the young fellow in the past it was not to be expected that Brendon would act the part of an affectionate relative immediately. Derrington rather admired George for his uncompromising attitude.

"Dinner will be ready soon," said the old lord, waving Brendon to a seat; "only our two selves. I wish to consult you."

"Consult me?" George could not keep the astonishment out of his face.

"It's rather late in the day, is it not?" remarked Derrington, dryly, "but you see I am old, George, and have not much time to spare. Yes, I wish you to consult with me after dinner about--but that can come in the course of our conversation. Meantime, let us talk of anything you like."

"The weather, sir?"

"No, confound you," snapped Derrington, with a flash of his old irritable self; "talk of wine, wit, and women if you like, but spare me platitudes."

Brendon stared at his shoes and smiled under his mustache. "I do not think I can say anything very original about the subjects you mention," he said quietly.

"Talk of Miss Ward, then. You can be original on that point."

Brendon would rather not have mentioned Dorothy, but he was quite determined to show his grandfather that he fully intended to marry his lady-love, and that he was not afraid to speak his mind. "I do not fancy that there is anything particularly original in a love-story. I met Miss Ward some three years before, I have loved her ever since, and we will marry when----"

"There, there," interrupted Derrington, waving his hand, "let us not get on to that subject as yet. We can talk of it after dinner. In fact, you may as well know that I asked you here to discuss your position. We must have an understanding."

"I think you must intend it to be a pleasant one," said Brendon, "as you have asked me to dinner."

"And to smoke the pipe of peace. There's the gong. Heigh-ho!"--he rose rather sluggishly--"gout is stiffening my limbs."

It struck Brendon that his grandfather looked old and very haggard. He had lost his fresh color, his eyes were sunken, and the defiant curl was out of his enormous mustache. He moved slowly toward the door, and George felt sorry to see him so lonely. He knew that Derrington hated all his relatives, and that his relatives cordially hated him, so there was none to comfort the old man in his declining years. Walter Vane was less than nothing, as his mere presence served to irritate his grandfather.

Moved by a sudden impulse, George made no remark, but moved to the elder man's side and offered his arm. The footman was holding the door open, and Derrington could not express, even by a look, the satisfaction he felt. With a surly grunt he took Brendon's arm, but George guessed by the warm pressure that Derrington was pleased. That simple, kindly movement served to draw the two men closer together, and they sat down to an excellent dinner in good spirits.

It was quite a banquet, for Derrington lived in a most expensive manner, and in spite of a sadly diminished income he would never abate the splendor of the style in which he had lived all his life. The table was a round one, laid with exquisite taste, and was placed under a kind of velvet tent, which shut off the rest of the room and made the meal particularly cosy. George, who had a taste for art, admired the finish of the silver, the beauty of the Crown Derby service, the glitter of the cut glass, which was unusually massive, and the adornments of the table. It was a perfect little banquet, and after the somewhat stale food of his lodgings, George enjoyed the meal greatly. Derrington himself did not eat much, but he took great pleasure in seeing George enjoy his viands.

"I had a fine appetite myself once," he observed; "you have inherited it from me. Never be ashamed to eat, George--it means good work. The man who starves himself, starves his public."

"You mean in the quality of his work, sir?"

"Of course. Poor living means poor thoughts."

"Well," said Brendon, with a smile, "I don't think rich living means rich thoughts."

"Certainly not. Whoever said it did? Remember the saying of the Greeks, and, egad, they were the only people who ever knew how to live."

"What saying is that?" asked George.

"Moderation is the corner-stone of dissipation."

"Ah, that's good, sir. But were the Greeks ever dissipated?"

"No, because they followed the advice of that epigram. George, if you expect me to explain epigrams I shall lose my respect for you."

"Have you any, sir?"

"You wouldn't be here if I had not," said Derrington, pulling his huge mustache. "There's your Cousin Walter----"

"My cousin, sir?"

"Of course. You know that." George thought it wiser, to say nothing, although it was strange that Derrington should mention the relationship himself. The old man gave him a quick glance and continued: "As I say, there is your Cousin Walter. I wouldn't ask him to dinner on any account. He's a fool, sir."

"He means well."

"If there is one class of people I hate more than another it is that Pharisaic lot who mean well. They make all the mischief."

"With the best intentions," put in Brendon, taking some wine.

"Best intentions are fatal. How many plans have come to naught because of best intentions? Take some of that port."

"No more, thank you, sir."

"I insist. There are walnuts."

"I don't mind the nuts, but the port----" George shook his head.

Derrington, at his own table, was too polite to press the matter, but he scored up another victory to Brendon's strong will. More, he passed off the matter with a laugh. "You have the hereditary gout, I see, George, when you are afraid of a glass of port."

"It's not that, sir, but I drink very little. I work on milk."

"Bah!" Derrington made a wry face. "Then your work----"

"Is all the better for it. Those who drink beer think beer."

"And those who drink milk think cows, I should say."

"Your knowledge on that point prevents contradiction on mine."

Derrington chuckled. This was just the kind of epigrammatic reply he relished. "You must enter the Diplomatic Service sir," said he, looking approvingly from under his bushy brows.

"Don't you think I'm rather old?"

"Brains are never old, sir. And you have 'em. It's what the Diplomatic Service in this country requires and what it never gets. I was in the Service myself at one time."

"So I have heard," said Brendon, cracking nuts composedly.

"Eh! What did you hear?"

"You must excuse me at your own table, sir."

"Pooh, if you want to say anything disagreeable my own table is the safest place you can say it at. I can't throw things at you."

"Still, a guest must be polite," argued George.

"I like my guests to be truthful."

"Very well, sir, if you will have it--and I feel that it would be bad manners to refuse your request--it is said that you nearly set Europe by the ears when you were ambassador."

Derrington roared. "I did--I did, and I wish I had brought about the war I wanted. It would have done no............