Mr. Lot had been ushered into the red parlor, and Richard found him strutting up and down before the windows that overlooked the park, his sword cocked under his coat-tails in very militant fashion. He bowed with unusual courtliness, and posed very creditably as a cavalier without reproach. Richard felt decidedly oppressed by his cousin’s portentous dignity. All the evidences of a determination to claim the right of politely murdering him appeared in Mr. Hardacre’s manner. Jeffray desired Mr. Hardacre to be seated. Lot waved the proffered chair aside, and stood to the majestic moment with astonishing grandiosity. “Cousin Richard,” he said, with another bow, “you doubtless recognize the delicacy of the errand that has brought me to Rodenham.” Richard blushed and looked uncomfortable. “You refer to the affair of last night, Lot,” he answered. “Egad, sir, I do. It is my right as Miss Hardacre’s brother to demand an explanation from you, sir, with regard to the unwarrantable introduction of this Mr. Wilson into our house.” Richard was still blushing and looking honestly distressed. He glanced appealingly at his cousin’s righteous face, and promptly plunged into a rambling and eager explanation of the affair, expressing his ardent regret at what had happened, and exonerating both Wilson and himself from the charge of premeditated mischief-making. Mr. Lot nodded very solemnly at every sentence, keeping his eyes fixed severely upon his cousin’s face, and still cocking his sword with aggressive significance. “So you will see, Lot,” said the lad, frankly, at the end of his speech, “that I was utterly innocent of any desire to offend. God knows, sir, I was as miserable as a man could be over such a regrettable error. I can only offer you my apologies and ask you and Sir Peter to forgive me.” Mr. Lancelot bowed and smiled with some grimness. “Egad, cousin,” he said, “I am glad to find you in so reasonable a temper. I can tell you, Richard, my blood was up, and when Lot Hardacre is roused—he is a bit of a devil, sir.” Richard, hot and eager, like the generous fellow he was, to salve the wounded Hardacre pride, held out his hand to Lot with a brave smile. “Your anger does you honor, Lot,” he said. “Had I such a sister I should be terribly jealous for her.” Mr. Hardacre glanced at Jeffray’s hand reflectively, and then shook it. “Deuce take me, Richard,” he said, “I knew you were a lad of the right temper. As for Dick Wilson, I broke his pate once, poor devil, when Jill was a mere bread-and-butter simpleton, and he had the impudence to fall in love with her. A pretty little jest, Richard, nothing more. It was the old lady above, sir, who poisoned the posset.” Jeffray was sincerely relieved to find Mr. Lancelot mellowing into such a brotherly humor.