He got home some time in October, and at his request I went to see him in London, while he was convalescent from that malaria which so seriously impeded Reconstruction. From him I heard the family plans. They were all three going shortly to Nina’s villa at Mentone for the winter. For the really rich it seemed that “the difficulties of the times” presented no difficulty at all; a big motor car was to take the party across France to their destination. “You see, we’re largely interested in works near Marseilles, and I’m going out to have a look at them; Waldo’s got doctor’s orders, Nina goes to nurse him—and the kid can’t be left, of course. All quite simple. Why don’t you come too?” “Perhaps I will—if I’m asked and can get a holiday. It sounds rather jolly.” “Top-hole! Besides, the war’s going to end. Nina’ll ask you all right; and, as for a holiday, you can’t do much at your game till the tonnage is released, can you?” He seemed about right there; on such questions he had a habit of being right. At the back of my mind, however, I was just faintly reluctant about embracing the project, a little afraid of too thick a Dundrannan atmosphere. “Well, I must go to Cragsfoot first. After that perhaps—if I am invited.” “Jolly old place, Cragsfoot!” he observed. “I don’t wonder you like to go there—even apart from your people. It’s unlucky that Nina’s taken against it, isn’t it?” “I didn’t know she had.” “Oh, yes. You’ll see that—when the time comes—I hope it’s a long way off, of course—she won’t live there.” “Waldo’ll want to live there, I think.” “No, he won’t. He’d want to now, if it fell in. But by the time it does, he’ll have had his mind altered.” He laughed good-humoredly. I rather resented that, having a sentimental feeling for Cragsfoot. But it would probably turn out true, if Nina devoted her energies to bringing it about. “Regular old ‘country gentleman’ style of place—which Briarmount isn’t. Sort of place I should like myself. I suppose you’d take it on, if Waldo didn’t mean to live there?” “You look so far ahead,” I protested. “The idea’s quite new, I haven’t considered it. I’ve always regarded it as a matter of course that Waldo would succeed his father there—as the Rillingtons have succeeded, son to father, for a good many years.” “Yes, I know, and I appreciate that feeling. Don’t think I don’t. Still that sort of thing can’t last forever, can it? Something breaks the line at last.”