The narrow escape of his nephew had brought home to him that he was really fond of the scapegrace now confronting him; even in a holland coat and chauffeur’s cap, what a handsome, well-set-up young fellow! And there was something different in this Owen: a look of decision, manliness, and independence in his face; a strain of confidence in his speech; even if he were not the future Sir Owen Wynyard, this individual was undeniably capable of “hoeing his own row.” He felt proud of this nephew, who seemed to be years older than the Owen of the Red Hussars or Owen of the ranch--here was a full-grown man! As a boy, Owen had never been afraid to look him squarely in the face, but now his nephew’s eyes seemed to dominate him altogether. Was it the younger generation knocking at the door? “Mind you, if we meet Mrs. Brune, and you are in her car, she will run you in for a Joy rider!” said his nephew, with a grin. “Well, perhaps you’d better go alone. I was only thinking of backing you up when she tackles you.” “Awfully good of you. I’ll get you to back me up in earnest in another direction.” “As long as it’s not a bill!” and Sir Richard actually laughed. “No, no; I’ve lots of money for a chauffeur--here’s the car, a 45 h.p. Panhard--isn’t she a beauty?” he said, as they arrived at the station entrance. “I’ll get it over as soon as I can, and bring my traps to the Station Hotel.” “Yes, I dine at eight sharp--good luck to you!” and he waved his hand to his nephew, and then stood watching him as he steered through the traffic with admirable judgment, and presently sped out of sight. Then Sir Richard collected his luggage, engaged rooms at the hotel, ordered a special reconciliation dinner, and wired to Lady Kesters, “Have seen Owen--all is square. Expect us to-morrow.” At eight o’clock uncle and nephew, in glossy shirts and evening-dress, sat down _tête-à-tête_, to enjoy their oysters. “And what about Mrs. Buckingham Brune?” inquired Sir Richard. “She took it better than I expected. At first I thought she was going to strike me, and I was in for a bad time; but when she heard that Wantage was no pauper, and that his maternal uncle was a duke, she calmed down, and I expect after a little time they will be all right. She actually got the _Peerage_ and looked him up on the spot--my word did not count! However, we parted friends; and she sent me over in the car and offered me a splendid reference.” “Oh, so you got round her! And what are your own plans, my boy?” “The agency--and Wynyard--and----” “Oh, that’s of course,” he interrupted; “but I mean now--to-morrow?” “To-morrow I’d like to run up to Lossiemouth.” “For golf--yes; but why not Berwick? It’s much handier!” “Well, you see, Uncle Dick, I’m not specially interested in any one in Berwick; but there’s a girl up north that interests me more than any one in the world.” “_Ah!_” hastily emptying his champagne glass, and putting it down with a jerk.