“And that sort of thing came devilish expensive!” snapped Sir Richard, who was now pacing the room. “I had to pay his debts. I paid them _twice_, and he promised on his word of honour to turn over a new leaf. The next thing he did was to back a bill for an infernal young swindler, and let me in for two thousand pounds--that was the last straw!” “Yes, I know it was,” assented his niece; “but really, Uncle Dick, Owen was not so much to blame as you believe. He was very steady out in India for four years; coming home, as you say, went to his head; he did not realise that money does not go nearly as far here--especially in an expensive cavalry regiment. He kept polo ponies and racing ponies in Lucknow, and could not understand that he could not do the same at home. As to the bill, he is not suspicious, or sharp at reading character, and is staunch to old friends--or those he mistakes for friends--as in the case of young de Montfort. He had never heard what a ‘wrong un’ he turned out; they were at Eton----” “Yes, I know--same house--same puppy-hole!” growled her uncle. “And when Mr. de Montfort looked up Owen and told him a pathetic and plausible tale about his affairs, and swore on his word of honour that his signature was a mere formality--and----” “Cleared off to Spain and left _me_ to pay!” interposed Sir Richard, coming to a halt. “Owen had to pay too,” retorted his sister, with a touch of bitterness. “You mean that I made him leave the Service? Yes, I could not afford to go on supporting an extravagant young ass.” “Owen is not brilliant, Uncle Dick, but he is no fool.” “A fool and another man’s money are soon parted. Life was made too easy for the chap--very different to what _I_ found it at his age. I had no hunters, no dozens of silk shirts, and rows of polo boots; _I_ never was to be met lounging down Piccadilly as if the whole earth belonged to me.” “Well, at least, Uncle Dick, you were never compelled to give up a profession you adored, when you were barely five-and-twenty.” “I’ve given up a lot,” he answered forcibly, “and when I was older than him; but never mind _me_; we are talking of Owen. After leaving the Hussars, Kesters took him on, and got him a capital billet in the City--a nice soft berth, ten to four, but my gentleman could not stand an office stool and tall hat, and in five months he had chucked----” Leila nodded. It was impossible to deny this indictment. “So then it was my turn again; and I thought a little touch of real work would be good for the future Sir Owen Wynyard, and, after some trouble, I heard of a likely opening in the Argentine on the Valencia Estancia, well out of the way of towns and temptation--a horse-breeding ranch, too. You see I studied the fellow’s tastes, eh?” And Sir Richard twirled his eyeglasses by the string--a trick of his when he considered that he had scored a point.