"You're a lucky fellow, Deane," said George Dallas, slowly finishing his second glass of the fresh bottle; "you're a lucky fellow, to have plenty of money and to be your own master, able to choose your own company, and do as you like. I wish I had the chance!" As Dallas spoke, he filled his glass again. "Well, there are worse berths than mine in the ship, and that's a fact!" said Deane calmly. "I've often thought about you, Dallas, I have now, and I've often wondered when you'll be like the prodigal son, and go home to your father, and succeed the old man in the business." "I have no father!" "Hain't you though? But you've got some friends, I reckon, who are not over-delighted at your campin' out with the wild Injuns you're living among at present?" "I have a mother." "That's a step towards respectability. I suppose you'll go back to the old lady some day, and be welcomed with open arms?" "There's some one else to have a say in that matter. My mother is--is married again. I have a stepfather." "Not generally a pleasant relation, but no reason why you shouldn't help yourself to this eight-shilling wine. That's right; pass the bottle. A stepfather, eh? And he and you have collided more than once, I expect?" "Have what?" "Collided." "Do you mean come into collision?" "Expect I do," said Deane calmly. "I'm forbidden the house. I'm looked upon as a black sheep--a pest--a contamination." "But the old gentleman wouldn't catch anything from you. They don't take contamination easy, after fifty!" "Oh, it's not for himself that Mr. Carruthers is anxious; he is infection proof--he--What is the matter?" "Matter? Nothing! What name did you say?" "Carruthers--Capel Carruthers. County family down in Kent." "Go ahead!" said Deane, tossing off his wine, refilling his glass, and pushing the bottle to his companion; "and this old, gentleman is not anxious about himself, you say; where is your bad influence likely to fall, then?" "On his niece, who lives with them." "What's her name?" "Clare. Clare Carruthers! Isn't it a pretty name?" "It is so, sir! And this niece. What's she like, now?" George Dallas tried to throw a knowing gleam into his eyes, which the perpetual motion of the decanter had rendered somewhat bleared and vacant, as he looked across at his companion, and said with a half-laugh: "You seem to take a great interest in my family, Deane?" Not one whit discomposed, Philip Deane replied: "Study of character as a citizen of the world, and a general desire to hear what all gals are like. Is Miss Clare pretty?" "I've only seen her once, and that not too clearly. But she struck me as being lovely." "Lovely, eh? And the old man won't have you at any price? That's awkward, that is!" "Awkward!" said Dallas, in a thick voice, "it's more than awkward, as he shall find! I'll be even with him--I'll--Hallo! What do you want, intruding on gentlemen's conversation?"