"His cousin!" Mr Thornton looked astonished for a moment. "Well, then, his cousin--very generously paid the money and got the note into his own hands. He acted throughout in the manner I should have expected from him, came to me at once, asked my advice, and begged me, if I felt it a possibility, to give the lad another chance. After consideration I consented. Pray have you anything to say against all this?" "Not to-day," Ibbetson answered quietly. "Not to-day!" repeated his uncle. "Perhaps you intend setting yourself up as the young man's champion against his best friend. And I tell you what, Jack. You seemed to me to be trying to pick a quarrel with Mr Trent last night. Don't let me see anything of the sort again. You will be good enough to behave to him as my friend." "Not as mine, at all events," said Jack, smiling as he reflected that his uncle treated him with as much authority as if, instead of disinheriting, he had just invested him with all his worldly goods. "And why not?" demanded Mr Thornton. "That I cannot explain at present. Never mind, Uncle Peter, we shan't clash. I'm going up to town by the next train, and shall be out of the way." Mr Thornton's face fell. In spite of all that had passed, he was very much disappointed. He thought Jack, who seldom gave in to him and never lost his temper, and who was therefore a very pleasant companion, would have spent Christmas with them. Under present circumstances he could not condescend to ask him to stay, but he would have liked his wife to do so in private, instead of exclaiming-- "There, Peter, I told you so! Now you have driven him away. Your uncle didn't mean it, my dear boy, though I don't think you are right about that nice Mr Trent." "I haven't said anything, have I?" "Well, I suppose it means something when you decline to meet him as a friend." "`The hand of Douglas is his own,'" quoted Jack. "I am very sorry, but I can't do otherwise. And I must be off at once, if I am to catch the train." "You can have the carriage," said Mr Thornton gruffly. "No, thank you, the morning is so fine, I prefer to walk." "Stop a moment. Then you are not going out again to Rome?" "Not unless I am obliged to do so. I shall spend Christmas with my father, and then come up for real hard work. Good-bye; good-bye, Aunt Harriet." "Hard work!" repeated Mr Thornton with scorn, as the door closed. And yet he was feeling a reluctant admiration for the straightforwardness with which the young fellow had behaved. If he had been left alone he would probably have relented, but his wife, with the best intentions in the world, immediately rubbed him up the wrong way. "Of course you don't mean it, Peter," she said anxiously. Perhaps nothing irritates a man so much as being told that he does not mean what he has just proclaimed with some emphasis as his intention. He faced round-- "Don't I? I mean every word of it. I gave them both fair notice."