“If it were that--which it is not--it would be but following the example that you set me. What are you but unreasonable and unjust--to treat your son as you are treating him?” His lordship crimsoned. On the subject of his son he could be angry in earnest, even with her ladyship, as already we have seen. “I have no son,” he declared, “there is a lewd, drunken, bullying profligate who bears my name, and who will be Lord Ostermore some day. I can't strip him of that. But I'll strip him of all else that's mine, God helping me. I beg, my lady, that you'll let me hear no more of this, I beg it. Lord Rotherby leaves my house to-day--now that Mr. Caryll is restored to health. Indeed, he has stayed longer than was necessary. He leaves to-day. He has my orders, and my servants have orders to see that he obeys them. I do not wish to see him again--never. Let him go, and let him be thankful--and be your ladyship thankful, too, since it seems you must have a kindness for him in spite of all he has done to disgrace and discredit us--that he goes not by way of Holborn Hill and Tyburn.” She looked at him, very white from suppressed fury. “I do believe you had been glad had it been so.” “Nay,” he answered, “I had been sorry for Mr. Caryll's sake.” “And for his own?” “Pshaw!” “Are you a father?” she wondered contemptuously. “To my eternal shame, ma'am!” he flung back at her. He seemed, indeed, a changed man in more than body since Mr. Caryll's duel with Lord Rotherby. “No more, ma'am--no more!” he cried, seeming suddenly to remember the presence of Mr. Caryll, who sat languidly drawing figures on the ground with the ferrule of his cane. He turned to ask the convalescent how he did. Her ladyship rose to withdraw, and at that moment Leduc made his appearance with a salver, on which was a bowl of soup, a flask of Hock, and a letter. Setting this down in such a manner that the letter was immediately under his master's eyes, he further proceeded to draw Mr. Caryll's attention to it. It was addressed in Sir Richard Everard's hand. Mr. Caryll took it, and slipped it into his pocket. Her ladyship's eyebrows went up. “Will you not read your letter, Mr. Caryll?” she invited him, with an amazingly sudden change to amiability. “It will keep, ma'am, to while away an hour that is less pleasantly engaged.” And he took the napkin Leduc was proffering. “You pay your correspondent a poor compliment,” said she. “My correspondent is not one to look for them or need them,” he answered lightly, and dipped his spoon in the broth. “Is she not?” quoth her ladyship. Mr. Caryll laughed. “So feminine!” said he. “Ha, ha! So very feminine--to assume the sex so readily.” “'Tis an easy assumption when the superscription is writ in a woman's hand.” Mr. Caryll, the picture of amiability, smiled between spoonfuls. “Your ladyship's eyes preserve not only their beauty but a keenness beyond belief.”