“And so he is,” growled the General, “we are all superior to Society. Do you think, sir, that I care a damn about any of the people in this county? Do you think I am impressed by my Lord of High Towers and my Lady of the Grange, and the various upstart parvenu aristocrats that swarm over this country like--like--field mice? No sir! And I trust my nephew is in the same mind. Society as it is at present constituted is not worth that!” He snapped his fingers in Jack’s impassive face. “That settles it,” said the General with decision. He pointed his finger at the notes which the other was taking. “The residue of my property I leave to Gilbert Standerton. Make a note of that.” Twice had he uttered the same words in his lifetime, and twice had he changed his mind. It might well be that he would change his mind again. If the reputation he bore was justified, the morning would find him in another frame of mind. “Stay over to-morrow,” he said at parting. “Bring me the draft at breakfast time.” “At what hour?” asked Jack politely. “At breakfast time,” roared the old man. “What is your breakfast hour?” “The same hour as every other civilised human being,” snapped the General “at twenty-five minutes to one. What time do you breakfast, for Heaven’s sake?” “At twenty to one,” said Jack sweetly, and was pleased with himself all the way back to the hotel. He did not see his train companion that night, but met him at breakfast the next morning at the Christian hour of half-past eight. Something had happened in the meantime to change the equable and cheery character of the other. He was sombre and silent, and he looked worried, almost ill, Jack thought. Possibly there was a bad time for safe selling, as there was a bad time for every other department of trade. Thinking this, he kept off the subject of business, and scarcely half a dozen sentences were exchanged between the two during the meal. Returning to The Residency, Jack Frankfort found with surprise that the old man had not changed his mind over night. He was still of the same opinion; seemed more emphatically so. Indeed, Jack had the greatest difficulty in preventing him from striking off a miserable hundred pounds bequest which he had made to a northern dispensary. “The whole of the money should be kept in the family,” said the General shortly; “it is absurd to fritter away little hundreds like this, it handicaps a man. I do not suppose he will have the handling of the money for many years yet, but ‘forethought,’ sir, is the motto of our family.” It was all to Gilbert’s advantage that the lawyer persisted in demanding the restoration of the dispensary bequest. In the end the General cut out every bequest in the will, and in the shortest document which he had ever signed bequeathed the whole of his property, movable and immovable, to “my dear nephew” absolutely. “He is married isn’t he?” he asked. “I believe he is,” said Jack Frankfort.