Arden; as he sat that morning alone in the quiet Arden dining-room, eating his kinsman’s bread. After a while Edgar came in. He was singularly pale, and his manner had changed in a way which Arthur could not explain to himself. He perceived the change at the first glance. He said to himself (thinking, as was natural, of himself only), “He has come to some determination about me. He has got something to propose to me.” Edgar looked like a man with some weighty business on hand. He had no time for his usual careless talk, his friendly, good-humoured notice of everything. He looked like a general who has a difficult position to occupy, or to get his troops safely out of a dangerous pass. His forehead, which had always been so free of care, was lined and clouded. His very voice had changed its tone. It was sharper, quicker, more decisive. He seemed to have made a sudden leap from a youth into a serious man. “My sister, I am sorry, is not well,” he said; “and I was up very late. I think she will stay in her room all day.” “I am very sorry,” said Arthur, “Wilkins has been telling me. He says you were kept late by business; and you look like it. You look as if you had all the cares of the nation on your head.” “I suppose the cares of the nation sometimes sit more lightly than one’s own,” said Edgar, with a forced smile. “My dear fellow!” said his cousin, laughing in superior wisdom. “Your cares cannot be of a very crushing kind. If it was mine you were talking of--a poor devil who sometimes does not know where his next dinner is to come from; but that is not a subject, perhaps, for polite ears.” “And the dinners have always come to you, I suspect,” said Edgar; “good dinners too, and handsomely served. Chops have not been much in your way; whereas you know most people who talk on such a subject----” “Have to content themselves with chops? Some people like them,” said Arthur, meditatively. “By the way, Arden, does it not come within the sphere of a reforming landlord like you to reform the _cuisine_ at the Arden Arms? If I were you, and had poor relations likely to come and stay there, I would make a difference. For you do consider the claims of poor relations. Many people don’t; but you---- By the way, you said something about Fazakerly. Is he actually coming? I should like to see the old fellow, though he is not fond of me.” “He is coming, certainly,” said Edgar, with a momentary flush, “but I think not so soon as to-morrow. I--have something to do to-morrow--an old engagement. And then--my business with Fazakerly may be more serious than I thought.” “As you please,” said Arthur, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “You are master, I have nothing to do with it. It was bad taste to remind you, I know. But when one’s pockets are empty, and the Mrs. Pimpernels of life begin to cast one off--that was an alarming defeat; I begin to ask myself, Are the crowfeet showing? is the grey visible in my hair.”