There was a moment’s dead silence, broken only by Julian’s heavy, laboured breathing. The two men sat there face to face, and their eyes met with a terrible significance of what was better unexpressed in words. Then Ramsay’s dull eyes took a deliberate survey of Julian’s face. It was drawn and livid, and the elder man rose and took from the cupboard some brandy. He poured it into a glass with a slightly contemptuous smile, and put it into Julian’s hand. “You’re the very devil to work,” he said drily. “And for all I know you may be first-rate as a winner; but I can’t say you’re a good loser. And it’s a useful lesson to learn in this business.” Julian drank the brandy and rose mechanically. The strong stimulant hardly seemed to touch the blanched horror of his face. “What do you propose to do?” he said in a stiff, toneless voice. “Personally, nothing,” returned Ramsay, “until I know more. Business will go on as usual. You’ll call the meeting, of course. I’ll tell Harrison to get the forms ready for you to sign. They must be sent out to-morrow. Going?” “Yes,” said Julian heavily. “There’s nothing more I need do to-day.” He took his hat and went slowly out of the office, looking straight before him like a man walking in his sleep. Ramsay looked after him, and stood for a minute rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Not quite what I thought he was,” he said to himself; “though he has served this purpose well enough. Pity he hasn’t a little more of his father in him. Got all the makings of the right sort, but he can’t stay.” CHAPTER X The early sunlight of a lovely September morning was streaming into the room through every crack and chink in the blinds and curtains, making the light from the still burning lamp look yellow, dim, and unnatural. It was Julian’s sitting-room in the house in Chelsea, and the light, falling here and there, touched into distinctness many of those little luxurious details on which the evening light had fallen on that winter day eighteen months before, when Mrs. Romayne had stood upon the threshold and looked round upon her completed arrangements, waiting then for the use which was to give them life. On a chair by the writing-table, his head dropped sideways on his arm as it rested on the table, sat Julian Romayne asleep.