On the following evening Robert Meredith had a guest at his chambers, who, to judge by the moody and impatient expression of his host's countenance, was anything but welcome. Meredith had dined at Portman-square, where he had met George Ritherdon, to whom Miss Baldwin, with her simplest and yet most dignified air, had given, in her own and her uncle's name, an invitation to the Deane for the shooting season. This incident was highly displeasing to Meredith, who, distracted by an uneasy suspicion that his friend had found him out to a certain extent, desired nothing less than his presence during any part of the critical time which must elapse before he could make his _coup_. Robert had returned to his chambers in a sullen and exasperated temper, which was intensified by the spectacle which met his view. An old man, shabby of aspect, and anything but venerable in appearance or bearing--an old man with bleared watery eyes, bushy gray eyebrows, and dirty gray hair--was seated in an arm-chair by the open window, smoking a churchwarden pipe and drinking hot brandy-and water. The mingled odours of tobacco and spirits perfumed the room after a fashion which harmonised ill with the sweet autumnal air and the flowers which adorned the sitting-room, in accordance with one of the owner's most harmless tastes. "What, you here, Oakley!" said Meredith, in a tone which did not dissemble his disgust. "What are you doing here? What has brought you up from Cheltenham?" "Business," replied the unvenerable visitor quietly, without rising or making any attempt at a salutation of his reluctant host. "Business," he repeated with an emphatic nod. "With me?" Meredith threw his hat and gloves upon a table, and sat down, sullenly facing his visitor. "With you. Look here, I'm tired of all this. You see, I am not so young as you are, and at my time of life I can't afford to play a waiting game. You can't, if you would, make it worth my while to do it; and as the case actually stands, you _don't_ make it worth my while to play any game at all--of yours, I mean. Of course I should, in any case, play mine." "I don't understand you," said Meredith, making a strong effort to keep his temper and speak with indifference. "I have kept the terms I made with you to the letter. What do you mean by _your_ game, as apart from mine?"