Luigi, as he turned the handle of the library door, felt that he would have given something to know what had passed between Lisle and his grandfather overnight. Had the former succeeded in convincing Sir Gilbert that his absence from home was due to a sudden attack of illness, or had he allowed his grandfather to become acquainted with the real facts of the case? His uncertainty on the point was dispelled by Sir Gilbert’s first words. “So, sir, you have recovered sufficiently from your last night’s debauch to allow of your coming to see me,” he said, taking him in through his contracted lids from head to foot. Luigi’s eyes fell and his knees trembled under him. As he said of himself afterwards, he felt “like a washed-out scarecrow.” He tried to moisten his lips, but his tongue was as dry as they. His first thought was: “That scoundrel, Lisle, _did_ sell me, after all! Not a bit of use now pretending I was ill.” Clearing his voice, he said: “I am very sorry, sir, that I was not able to get home yesterday in time for dinner. That I took more wine than was good for me I frankly admit. So little am I used to it that a very small quantity tells upon me. I don’t know whether you are aware of it, sir, but the occasion was a birthday wine party to drink the health of young Jack Derrick.” “Jack whom did you say?” demanded Sir Gilbert, adding, _sotto voce_: “If the fellow would only stand up and face me like a man and not look so confoundedly cringing and obsequious, I could forgive him almost anything.” “Jack Derrick, sir, son of Colonel Derrick, he who has lately come to reside at Stanbrooke Grange.” Luigi had calculated that his lie was a tolerably safe one. He knew that the Colonel and Sir Gilbert had never met and that, in view of the secluded habits of the latter, there was little likelihood of their doing so. Besides, it was quite true that young Derrick, with whom, however, he was merely on nodding terms, had just come of age, but the rest of his statement was a pure invention. It was the health of Miss Jennings that had been drunk in creaming bumpers. “Humph!” said Sir Gilbert, as he gave a tug at the lobe of his right ear. Then he took a turn across the room and back again, for he had been standing by the chimney-piece on Luigi’s entry. “After all, then,” he remarked to himself, “the boy was in better company than I gave him credit for. Still, he deserves a sound wigging and he shall have it.” But his frown had lightened perceptibly, a fact which Luigi’s furtively glancing eyes did not fail to note.