All the rooms in the house in Chelsea were bright and pretty, and by no means the least attractive was the dining-room. The late breakfast-hour fixed by Mrs. Romayne, “just for the season,” as she said, gave plenty of time for the sun to find its way in at the windows; and on the morning following Julian’s dinner with Lord Garstin the sunshine was dancing on the walls, and the soft, warm air floating in at the open windows, as though the thunderstorm of the previous evening had cleared the air to some purpose. The two occupants of the room, as they faced one another across the dainty little breakfast-table, had been laughing and talking after their usual fashion ever since they sat down; talking of the party of the night before and of engagements in the future; and finally reverting to Lord Garstin’s dinner and Marston Loring, of whom Julian had already had a great deal to say. “I have a kind of feeling that he and I are going to be chums, mother!” he said as he carried his coffee-cup round the table to her to be refilled. “I think he took to me rather, do you know!” “That’s a very surprising thing, isn’t it?” returned his mother, laughing. “And you took to him? Well, if you must pick up a chum, you couldn’t do it under better auspices than Lord Garstin’s.” “I took to him no end!” answered Julian eagerly. “I do hope you’ll like him.” “I think I am pretty sure to like him,” said Mrs. Romayne graciously. “I remember hearing about him some time ago--that he was quite one of the rising young men of the day. He was to have been introduced to me then. I forget why it didn’t come off. There’s your coffee!” Julian took his cup with a word of thanks and turned back to his chair; and his mother began again. “Mr. Loring is a member of the Prince’s, I suppose?” she said. The “Prince’s” was the name of the club at which Lord Garstin’s dinner had been given. “I suppose you will want to be setting up a club in no time, sir?” Julian laughed, and then replied somewhat eagerly and confidentially, as though in unconscious response to a certain invitation in his mother’s tone. “Well, of course a fellow does want a club, mother,” he said. “One feels it more and more, don’t you know! Of course I should awfully like to belong to the Prince’s.” “And why not?” responded his mother brightly, watching him rather narrowly as she spoke. “Lord Garstin would put you up, I’ve no doubt, if I asked him.” Julian’s eyes sparkled. “It would be first-rate!” he exclaimed. “Mother, it’s awfully jolly of you!” He paused a moment and then continued tentatively: “It would be rather expensive, you know. That’s the only thing!” “So I suppose!” answered his mother, laughing. “Oh, you’re a very expensive luxury altogether! However, I imagine another hundred a year would do?” Then as he broke into vehement demonstrations of delight and gratitude, she added with another laugh which did not seem to ring quite true: “I don’t think you need ever run short of money!”