Lord Tilbury inclined his head. He quite saw the force of the argument that it would be jolly for anyone, meeting him. “So you know young Shotter?” “Oh, yes. We were at school together.” “A peculiar young fellow.” “A great lad.” “But--er--a little eccentric, don’t you think?” “Oh, Sam always was a bit of nib,” said Mr. Braddock. “At school there used to be some iron bars across the passage outside our dormitory, the idea being to coop us up during the night, don’t you know. Sam used to shin over these and go downstairs to the house master’s study.” “With what purpose?” “Oh, just to sit.” Lord Tilbury was regarding his host blankly. Not a day passed, he was ruefully reflecting, but he received some further evidence of the light and unstable character of this young man of whom he had so rashly taken charge. “It sounds a perfectly imbecile proceeding to me,” he said. “Oh, I don’t know, you know,” said Mr. Braddock, for the defence. “You see, occasionally there would be a cigar or a plate of biscuits or something left out, and then Sam would scoop them. So it wasn’t altogether a waste of time.” Sleddon was entering with a tray. “Cocktail?” said Mr. Braddock, taking one himself with a defiant glare at his faithful servant, who was trying to keep the tray out of his reach. “No, I thank you,” said Lord Tilbury. “My doctor has temporarily forbidden me the use of alcoholic beverages. I have been troubled of late with a suspicion of gout.” “Tough luck.” “No doubt I am better without them. I find cider an excellent substitute.... Are you expecting many people here to-night?” “A fairish number. I don’t think you know any of them--except, of course, old Wrenn.” “Wrenn? You mean the editor of my _Home Companion_?” “Yes. He and his niece are coming. She lives with him, you know.” Lord Tilbury started as if a bradawl had been thrust through the cushions of his chair; and for an instant, so powerfully did these words affect him, he had half a mind to bound at the receding Sleddon and, regardless of medical warnings, snatch from him that rejected cocktail. A restorative of some kind seemed to him imperative. The statement by Mr. Wrenn, delivered in his office on the morning of Sam’s arrival, that he possessed no daughter had had the effect of relieving Lord Tilbury’s mind completely. Francie, generally so unerring in these matters, had, he decided, wronged Sam in attributing his occupancy of Mon Repos to a desire to be next door to some designing girl. And now it appeared that she had been right all the time.