Peebles’ words came to him as a veritable revelation. For just a minute the solution of the whole difficulty, so long sought, so ardently desired, seemed almost ludicrously easy. He had only to acquaint the Squireen with the truth in order to secure the even greater and much more solid pleasure of inheriting his uncle’s estate. Then a doubt came and chilled him. We are all apt to fancy that our neighbour’s conduct in any given conditions will closely resemble our own conduct under like circumstances. Richard knew, and--no criminal being ashamed of his own instincts--confessed to himself quite openly and with no embarrassment, that if he, in Desmond’s place, had learned the secret of his birth, the effects of the knowledge would certainly not be those foreshadowed by Peebles. Rather the contrary! The stain on his name would have been an added claim on the generosity of the father who had so wronged him. Still, a fiery-tempered fool like Desmond might think differently. Peebles’ words stuck in his mind, and returned during the night with a constant reiteration, keeping sleep at arm’s length. Again and again his clumsy imagination tried to realize the effects of the betrayal of the secret, until he determined to take the trouble to his father, and consult with him as to the best line of conduct to be followed. He descended to the breakfast-table to find my lord and his father seated together there, attended by Peebles, but neither Desmond nor Dulcie was present. In answer to a remark on their absence from Kilpatrick, Peebles deposed to having heard them laughing and talking on the lawn at least three hours earlier, and suggested that they had gone on one of their eternal excursions. Breakfast was almost over when they appeared, flushed and radiant. Kilpatrick had shown some testiness in remarking their absence, but Dulcie’s good-morning kiss had quite dissipated his gloom, and he listened with a goodtempered smile to their chatter about the morning’s adventures. ‘Don’t forget to come to the study, Desmond,’ he said, as he rose and passed out on to the terrace with his newspaper. ‘All right, sir,’ said Desmond. Conseltine also withdrew, leaving the three young people together, Richard sitting apart, and scowling angrily at Dulcie and her companion, who ignored his presence completely. ‘Dulcie,’ he said suddenly, ‘won’t you come into the drawing-room and teach me that song? You promised, you know.’ ‘Not now,’ said the girl, ‘I’m busy. I’ve got to go and look out my fishing-tackle.’ ‘Are you going fishing?’ asked Richard. ‘Yes,’ said Desmond; ‘she’s going with me.’ ‘I wasn’t addressing you,’ said Richard. ‘Thank you for the honour you do me in not addressing me!’ said Desmond quietly. There was something in Richard’s manner which the lad could not define, something more than usually insolent and offensive.