The Major arrived in town towards evening. He knew where his son was lodging. Lieutenant Reid would have to join his regiment in two or three days, but the last few hours of his leave would be spent in his old rooms in St James' Street. Reid was heavily in debt--up to his very eyes, in fact--but that was no reason whatever for his taking poor rooms or allowing himself to be in the least uncomfortable. He had a very little money in hand, which he had extorted from a rascally old Jew at enormous interest, and was therefore, as he called it, rather flush, and inclined to make the best of things. He was about to go out to dine at a certain club where he would meet some of his brother officers when the Major walked in. It is sad to have to relate that Lieutenant Reid was by no means glad to see his father. "Why, dad!" he said; "whatever has brought you up to town? and how queer you look and in the name of fortune, what is the matter?" "I have had the most astounding news," said the Major. "Let me sit down, I am quite breathless. Michael, where are you going to dine?" Michael Reid mentioned a fashionable club where he hoped to meet his friend. "You will not go there; you will stay with me. Send a messenger to Hudson to say you are prevented dining with him this evening." "But why? I have arranged the matter," said Michael, speaking crossly. "That does not signify in the least," answered Major Reid. "I want to speak to you, and there is not a moment--let me tell you frankly--not a moment to lose." Michael looked very hard at his father, and something in the old gentleman's agitation seemed at last to acquaint him with the fact that a matter of importance had occurred. He accordingly rang his bell, and gave the necessary directions with regard to securing a messenger boy to take a note to Captain Hudson. He then scribbled a few lines, delivered the note to the servant, and turned to his father. "I see you are in the old rooms," said the Major. "Yes; I always come here when I am in town. Why should I change?" "They are expensive," said the Major. "How do you mean to pay for them?" Michael Reid turned rather white. "Sir," he said, "you have decided not to help me in the future, you have therefore forfeited the right to inquire into my financial position. It is nothing to you, surely, how and in what manner I manage to obtain a living." "You cannot go on in the Army, swamped in debt as you are," said the Major. "It is disreputable, and impossible." Michael, who had been exceedingly annoyed at his father's visit, now stared at him with a certain defiance. Then he looked at him again, and it seemed to him that there was a meaning under the old gentleman's words. He wondered vaguely if his old father was softening towards him, and if, notwithstanding that unpleasant _fracas_ with regard to Florence Heathcote, he would help him after all. Accordingly, he sank into a chair, and gazed at his parent.