“Justinian Pant, you will be a Force. You will be a Napoleon. You will be a lord. You will make wars, unmake Parliaments, shuffle Cabinets and reshuffle Cabinets. You will be the first person in the world to discover how to make the maximum amount of money out of the execution of a murderer. You will give away your dearest friends on all occasions of possible profit, while standing by them through thick and thin when nothing is to be gained by standing anywhere else. You will be as a thorn in the sides of upright men, and as a bastinado upon the behinds of those who are down. You will be successful in all things; and honours shall shower upon you like gold on a commercial traveller selling beer by the yard. You will marry a lady of quality, and be an honourary member of the most exclusive night-clubs. You will love your wife, after your fashion. You will be jealous of her, after your fashion. And you will forget to pay me the sum of nineteen shillings and eleven pence which you owe me. For that reason, as also because all things must have an end, whether it is the might of Empires or the beneficial effects of alcohol--even, Justinian Pant, as the first news of your high destiny comes to you in Piccadilly Circus, so the first knell of your awful doom will be cried by a bird of wise omen that will perch on the left wing of the Eros on the fountain over yonder. So it is written. I have spoken.” And the ancient man disappeared among the crowds by the Underground Station, leaving Justinian Pant to gape at a copy of the evening paper of the night before last. Nor did the contents of the days that followed put an end to his astonishment; for as it was written, so it happened, even to the lady of quality for a wife, whom Lord Vest loved violently. Young Mr. Dunn appears, however, to have been an afterthought in the nobleman’s destiny. How much rather young Mr. Dunn had remained forever unthought of! But it is written that every cloud is full of rain and it is no use crying into spilled milk when you have a handkerchief. III The silence was unnerving the young private secretary; and he was trying, with the utmost care, to peel a nut before he realised that one does not and cannot peel a nut. The second butler was vulgar enough to wink at him again. The second butler was a low fellow who had been at Eton with Mr. Dunn and despised Mr. Dunn for not having gone up in the world. At last Lady Vest made to rise from the table, and spoke for the first time since she had sat down. “I will leave you,” said she, “to your coffee.” “You will stay,” said my lord, “exactly where you are.” And he smiled in an unpleasant way all his own which showed his false teeth, and at sight of which the menials at once left the room. Another long and heavy silence fell, so that Mr. Dunn cursed the day he was born. Outside, night had fallen. “I am to gather,” said Lord Vest, with a smile, to his wife, “that this Dunn person is your lover?”