Lionel was not sorry when the evening came to an end, and he found himself on his way back to Park Newton. “My first introduction to Midlandshire society is not very promising,” he said to himself. “I hope to find it a little more entertaining by-and-by.” The squire, after being safely helped into his dog-cart, was driven home by his groom. Mr. Cope, after his guests were gone, stood for a full quarter of an hour with his back to the drawing-room fire, ruminating over the events of the evening. Judging by the settled frown on his face, his meditations were anything but pleasant ones. “My worst fears are confirmed,” he said to himself. “Culpepper has been induced to speculate on his own account. His balance at the bank yesterday was only two thousand and odd pounds,—and every security disposed of! Some swindler has got hold of him, and the result will be that he will lose every penny that he has invested. Build himself a new mansion, indeed! Unless he’s very careful, the Court of Bankruptcy will soon be the only mansion he can claim the right to enter.” At this moment his son, Edward, entered the room. “Have you been to Pincote to-day?” said the banker. “I have just returned from there,” answered the young man. “If I were you, Edward,” said Mr. Cope, looking steadily at his son, “I wouldn’t allow my feelings to become too closely entangled with Miss Culpepper. You’re only on probation, you know, and I wouldn’t—in short, I wouldn’t push matters so far as to leave myself without a door of escape, in case anything should happen to—to—in short, you understand perfectly what I mean.” “You mean to say, sir——” stammered the young man. “I mean to say nothing more than I’ve said already,” interrupted the banker. “My meaning is perfectly simple. If you cannot understand it, you are more stupid than I take you to be. Good-night.” At the door he turned. “Remember this,” he added. “When you enter an enemy’s country, never burn your boats behind you. Bad policy.” And with a final nod, the banker was gone. “Now, what on earth does he mean with his ‘enemy’s country,’ and his ‘burning boats’?” said Edward Cope, with a comical look of despair. “I wish some people would learn to talk plain English.” CHAPTER VII. KESTER ST. GEORGE. Although Lionel Dering had obtained Kester St. George’s address in Paris from Mr. Perrins, he had not yet written to him. He put off writing from day to day, hardly knowing, in fact, in what terms to couch his letter. He could not forget the look he had seen in his cousin’s eyes during their momentary recognition of each other on Westminster Bridge. Were they to be as friends or as enemies to each other in time to come? was the question Lionel asked himself times without number. At last he decided not to write at all, but to wait till Kester should return to England, and then see him in person.