"Been on the war trail, Jack?" asked Sir Arkroyd. "How are the squaws and wigwams? Seriously, where have you been, old man?" "Yes, I have been on the war trail," he said. "And got some scalps, I hope," said Dalrymple. "What are you doing--dining? What do you say, Ark, shall we join him? It's so long since I've eaten anything that I should like to watch a man do it before I make an attempt." The footman put chairs and rearranged the table, and the two men chatted and conned over the _carte_. "You don't look quite the thing, Jack. Been going it in the forest, or what?" "Yes, I've been going it in the forest, Dally." "Been hunting the buffalo and chumming up with his old friend, Spotted Bull," said Arkroyd. "Bet you anything he hasn't been out of London, Dally." "Take him," said Jack. "I've been out of London on a little matter of business." "He's been robbing a bank," said Arkroyd, "or breaking one." "Neither. Stop chaffing, you two, and tell a fellow what's going on." "Shall we tell him, Dally? Perhaps he'll try to cut us out. It wouldn't be a bad idea to start a joint stock company, all club together, you know, and work it in that way, the one who wins to share with the other fellows." "Wins what? What on earth are you talking about? Is it a sweepstake, a handicap, or what----" "No, my noble Savage. It's the heiress." "Oh," said Jack, indifferently, and he sipped his claret critically. "What has come to you, Jack? Have you decided to cut the world or have heiresses become unnecessary? Perhaps someone has left you a fortune, old man; if so, nobody will be more delighted than I shall be--to help you spend it." A flush rose to Jack's face, and his eyes flashed. He had been drinking great bumpers of the Hawks' favorite claret--a heady wine which Jack should never have touched at any time, especially not tonight. "No, no one has left me a fortune; quite the reverse. But you'd better tell me about this heiress, I see, or you'll die of disappointment. Who is she--where is she?--what is she? Here's her good health, whoever she is," and down went another bumper of the Lafitte; and as it went down, it was to Una he drank, not to the unknown one. "Do you remember Earlsley?" said Arkroyd. "Oh, no, of course not, you must have been in your cradle in the wigwam in that time. Well; old Wigsley died and left his money to a fifty-second cousin, who turned out to be a girl. No one knew anything about her; no one knew where to find her; but at last there comes a claimant in the shape of a girl from one of the Colonies--Canada. That isn't a colony, is it, though? Australia--anywhere--nobody knows, you know. She came over with her belongings--a rum-looking old fellow, with a white head of long hair, like, a--a--what's got a long head of white hair, Dally?" "Try patriarch," murmured the marquis.