“So we were, so we were,” was the reply. “I must reveal a little bit of my life that I have said nothing to you about before. Even your aunt and father know very little of it. When I was quite a youngster, I was a bit inclined to kick over the traces. And, in one of my wild moods, I went out to Australia in the hope of making my fortune quickly. It was there I met Tom Newcombe, who had been lucky and made quite a respectable pile. In that land of democratic equality we chummed up together. After a few years I left, having made no headway. But during that trying time Newcombe was a splendid pal to me, let me share with him when I was wanting a meal. I have never set eyes on him since. And now poor old Tom has turned up, broke to the world. One of the saddest things I know.” Lydon was firmly convinced the man was lying, that he had invented this explanation of his acquaintance with the rough-looking stranger. Even Gloria looked somewhat doubtful. “What are you going to do with him, uncle? Will he stay here?” she asked quickly. “Of course. Could I turn out a man who befriended me as he did?” answered Stormont with a fine show of virtuous rectitude. “A pity we have got that party on to-night. I should have been proud to have such a fine fellow at my table, in spite of the fact that he is not quite of our--er--class. But he is a sensible chap and sees things clearly. He has no evening clothes, and none of mine would fit him. He will have his dinner in my study, and I shall instruct the servants to show him the greatest respect. There will be nobody here to-morrow, and he can then join us.” He was carrying it out very bravely, as well as anybody could, turning the rough Tom Newcombe into almost a hero. But Lydon disbelieved every word he said, as he naturally would, and Gloria did not seem very convinced. “You are going to help him, of course?” she said in the same quiet tone. A generous glow seemed to animate Stormont’s whole manner as he replied to her. And Lydon was more than ever convinced that the man was acting for all he was worth. “I should think so. I have heaps of faults, but want of humanity, thank Heaven, is not one of them. I shall help poor old Tom as long as he wants help, as he helped me when I was in need.” With the utterance of these noble sentiments, the conversation ended. Stormont went away to shut up with his guest till dinner-time. The respectable people of the neighbourhood came to the banquet and did full justice to it, in ignorance that not far from them, in the host’s study, a shabby-looking man, waited upon by a rather supercilious footman, was partaking in solitude of the same rich viands and choice wines. When the last carriage had rolled away, Mrs. Barnard went to bed, explaining that she was tired with her long day. Was it because she wished to avoid any conversation with her niece about the unexpected guest?