“I’ll telephone for stalls at something. You may as well have all the fun you can before you start off to plough your lonely furrow.” “It’s awfully good of you, Sis. I’m a frightful nuisance to the family--something between a bad penny and a black sheep!” “No, Owen, you know perfectly well you are neither,” she protested, as she lit another cigarette. “You mentioned just now there are only the two of us, and it would be rather strange if we did not stick by one another. And there is this to be said, that although you’ve been wild and extravagant, and your gambling and practical joking were shocking, all the time you remain a gentleman; and there are two things in your favour--you don’t drink----” “No, thank God!” he responded, with emphasis. “As far as I know you have never been mixed up with women--eh, Owen?” and she looked at him steadily. “No. To tell you the truth, I give them a wide berth. I’ve seen some pretty awful affairs they had a hand in. To be candid, I’m a little shy of your sex.” “That is funny, Owen,” she replied, “considering it was on account of a woman you have just been thrown out of a job.” “You could hardly expect a man to stand by and see a brute like Murcia knocking a poor creature about--half-killing her--and never interfere!” “No, of course; but you must not make the mistake of being too chivalrous--chivalry is costly--and it is my opinion that it has cost you a good deal already. That detestable de Montfort was not the first who let you in, or persuaded you to pull his chestnuts out of the fire. Come now, own up--confess to the others.” “No--no”--and he smiled--he had a charming smile--“there is such a thing as honour among thieves.” “That’s all very noble and generous, my dear brother, but some of the thieves were _not_ honourable.” Her dear brother made no reply; he was staring fixedly into the fire and thinking of Hugo de Montfort. How little had he imagined, when he backed Hugo’s bill, that the scribbling of his signature would make such an awful change in his own life! Hugo and he had been at Eton in the same house; they had fagged together, sat side by side in chapel, and frequently shared the same scrapes. Later they had lost sight of one another, as Owen had struggled into the Service and gone out to India. Some years later, when stationed at the depôt, he and de Montfort had come across one another once more. Hugo de Montfort was a self-possessed young man, with sleek black hair and a pair of curiously unreadable grey eyes: an idler about town--clever, crafty, unscrupulous, and much given to cards and racing. He welcomed his old pal Wynyard with enthusiasm--and secretly marked him for his own. Wynyard--so said report--was a nailing rider, a good sort, popular, and known to be the nephew and heir of a rich, unmarried uncle; so he played the rôle of old schoolfellow and best pal for all it was worth.