"You seem to me making a mull of matters with your uncle," said his father, pouring out his coffee from a peculiar machine of his own. "I have never interfered, for I think his manners are insufferable, but if you don't object to them you might have done better, I should say." "Well, I don't know," said Jack brightly. "I dare say I should think so if I were you; but being myself, I don't exactly see what I could have done." "Couldn't you marry that girl?" Jack flushed. "She didn't care to marry me," he said stiffly. "Whew!" said his father, lifting his eyebrows. "Not enough money, I suppose?" "I doubt that influencing her," said Jack, in the same tone. "Well, you'd better look out, for I hear there's a man of the name of Trent a good deal at Hetherton, and your uncle swears by him. It's quite certain we never get any luck in our family." This was a statement which, with Lady Ibbetson sitting by, who might have been supposed by outsiders to have brought her husband a good deal of the sort of luck to which he alluded, could only be received in silence. Jack finished his breakfast and took himself off to the smoking-room. Trent seemed to haunt him, and he had an uneasy feeling of not knowing how much or how little to say. Then he remembered Bice, and began to wonder whether this sudden departure of Trent's was an energetic effort on his part to forestall disclosures, or at any rate to soften their force. If what he had said was true, and the two were engaged, he might be able to enlist her feelings in his favour. Jack had desired Clive to write, but was not very sure that he had yet done so. Now he promptly made up his mind to write himself to Phillis.