Robert Lauderdale looked at him in some surprise, for the tone of his voice sounded unaccountably hostile. “I didn’t ask you to come for the sake of quarrelling with you, Jack,” he replied. “No. I didn’t suppose so.” “But you seem to be in a confoundedly bad temper all the same,” observed the old gentleman, and his bushy eyebrows moved oddly above his bright old eyes. “Am I? I didn’t know it.” Ralston sat very quietly in his chair, holding his hat on his knees, but looking steadily at Mr. Lauderdale. The latter suddenly sniffed the air discontentedly, and frowned. “It’s those abominable cocktails you’re always drinking, Jack,” he said. “I’ve not been drinking any,” answered Ralston, momentarily forgetting the forgetfulness which had so angered him ten minutes earlier. “Nonsense!” cried the old man, angrily. “Do you think that I’m in my dotage, Jack? It’s whiskey. I can smell it!” “Oh!” Ralston paused. “It’s true--on my way here, I began to drink something and then put it down.” “Hm!” Robert Lauderdale snorted and looked at him. “It’s none of my business how many cocktails you drink, I suppose--and it’s natural that you should wish to celebrate the wedding day. Might drink wine, though, like a gentleman,” he added audibly. Again Ralston felt that sharp thrust of pain which a man feels under a wholly unjust accusation brought against him when he has been doing his best and has more than partially succeeded. The fiery temper--barely under control when he had entered the house--broke out again. “If you’ve sent for me to lecture me on my habits, I shall go,” he said, moving as though about to rise. “I didn’t,” answered the old gentleman, with flashing eyes. “I asked you to come here on a matter of business--and you’ve come smelling of whiskey and flying into a passion at everything I say--and I tell you--pah! I can smell it here!” He took a cigar from the table and lit it hastily. Meanwhile Ralston rose to his feet. He evidently had no intention of quarrelling with his uncle unnecessarily, but the repeated insult stung him past endurance. The old man looked up, with the cigar between his teeth, and still holding the match at the end of it. With the other hand he took a bit of paper from the table and held it out towards Ralston. “That’s what I sent for you about,” he said. Ralston turned suddenly and faced him. “What is it?” he asked sharply. “Take it, and see.” “If it’s money, I won’t touch it,” Ralston answered, beginning to grow pale, for he saw that it was a cheque, and it seemed just then like a worse insult than the first. “It’s not for you. It’s a matter of business. Take it!” Ralston shifted his hat into his left hand and took the cheque in his right, and glanced at it. It was drawn in favour of Katharine Lauderdale for one hundred thousand dollars. He laughed in the old man’s face, being very angry. “It’s a curiosity, at all events,” he said with contempt, laying it on the table.