“Afterwards we will reward the old man, and rejoice his heart, by packing up and going home by the next steamer. He would give many thousand pounds to get you back again--you are the apple of his little pig’s eye. This country does not agree with me--I don’t mean physically, but morally. It’s an enervating, corrupting, beguiling land. We will sell off your guns and ponies, dear boy. I’ve put them up at the club--I hope I have not broken the wind of that dark bay--we will go down in the mail tonga this day week, _en route_ for Bombay. There are temptations for _you_ in this Indian Empire too. The sooner you say good-bye to H. G. the better. Now, there is my programme for you--my new leaf. What have you to say to it?” Brisk and confident as his speech had been, there was a certain unmistakable lameness in its conclusion. Waring had secretly winced under his listener’s eyes--his listener, who sat motionless, contemplating him with an expression of cool contempt. “The first thing I have to say is, that my guns and the ponies are not for sale, or only the chestnut with the white legs.” “Great Scot! You don’t mean to tell me that you intend to take three ponies home! And what do you want with an express rifle and an elephant gun in England?” “I may require them out here. I am not going back to England.” Captain Waring sat suddenly erect. “Of course this is all humbug and rot!” he exclaimed vehemently. “No. I am quite in earnest. I intend to remain with my father; it is the right thing for me to do. He is alone in the world; his mind is weak.” “So is his son’s, I should say,” burst out Waring, throwing his cigarette into the verandah. “Get him a keeper--two keepers, by all means; a baby house, a barrel organ, every comfort, but don’t _you_ be a lunatic. Come home with me. Think of Uncle Dan!” “Yes, I know very well that Uncle Dan will cast me off; he told me he would, if I remained out here with my father.” “Cast you off!” almost screamed the other. “Do you mean to tell me that you will never see the colour of his money again?” “Never.” “I believe that Miss Gordon has something to say to this scheme, as well as this mad Quixotic idea about your father,” cried Clarence, crimson with excitement. “As for the girl, you must let her slide, we have all been through _that_; but, for God’s sake, hang on to the uncle, and the coin. You are the only mortal for whom he will open his purse-strings.” “I have written to him, and told him that I am not going home.” “Is the letter posted?” Mark nodded. “Then,” turning on him fiercely, “you have burnt your boats.” “I have.” “You are mad to chuck everything at twenty-six years of age. You give up your life at home----”