And his good faith was so obvious that Claude picked up the four quarters of torn paper, fitted them together, and entered upon yet another explanation. This one, however, was somewhat impatiently given and received. The Duke professed to think his likeness exceedingly unlike--when, indeed, he could be got to see his own outlines at all--and Claude disagreeing, a silence fell between the pair. Jack sought to break it by taking off his collar (which had made him miserable) and putting it in his pocket with a significant look; but the act provoked no comment. So the two men sat, the one smoking cigarettes, the other his cutty, but neither speaking, nor yet reading a line. And the endless roar of Piccadilly, reaching them through the open windows, emphasised their silence, until suddenly it sank beneath the midnight chimes of the city clocks. In another minute a tiny, tinkling echo came from Claude's chimney-piece, and the Duke put down his pipe and spoke. "My first whole day in London--a goner," he said; "and a pretty full day it's been. Listen to this for one day's work," and as he rehearsed them, he ticked off the events on his great brown fingers. "Got run in--that's number one. Turned up among a lot of swells in my old duds--number two. Riled the cleverest man you know--number three--so that he nearly cleared out of your rooms; and, not content with that, hurt the feelings of the second cleverest (present company excepted) so that he _did_ clear--which is number four. Worst of all, riled you, old man, and hurt your feelings too. That's the finisher. And see here, Claude, it isn't good enough and it won't do. I won't wash in London, and I'm full up of the hole; as for my own house, it gave me the fair hump the moment I put my nose inside; and I'd be on to make tracks up the bush any day you like--if it weren't for one thing." "What's that," said Claude, "if it's a fair question?" The other concealed his heightened colour by relighting his pipe and puffing vigorously. "I'll tell you," said he; "it's that old girl and--what's the daughter's name again?" "Olivia." "Olivia. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl! She's all that and more." "And much more." "You see, she's as good inside as out; she has a kind heart." "I have always found it so," said Claude, "and I've known her since she was a child." The two kinsmen, who had been so wide apart a few minutes since, were now more than ever mutually akin. They drew their chairs together; but the touchstone was deep down in either heart. "You knew her when she was a child!" repeated the Duke in a kind of awe. "Yes; and I daresay, now, you used to play with her, and perhaps take her on your knee, and even pull her hair and kiss her in them old days. Yet there you sit smoking cigarettes!" His own pipe was out. He was in a reverie. Claude also had his own thoughts. "The one thing was this," said the Duke at length: "would the old woman and her daughter come to see us up the country?"