Remembering to whom this debt of anxiety and watchfulness was due, Aylmer set his lips yet more grimly as he waited. Landon should pay to the uttermost, not only for the wrongs which he had heaped year by year upon his wife and her relations, but for the injury he had done to those of his own blood. Aylmer's eyes grew hard; his color rose angrily. He, John Aylmer, a reputable man, sat and waited admission to a house like a common mendicant, because Landon was a scoundrel. And beyond this, was there not more? Had he not had to endure a look of repulse, of loathing, from eyes--for the first time he confessed it, even to himself--which had become to him the very eyes of Fate. By God! Landon should pay bitterly for that! A step upon the gravel scattered his reflections. He looked up. Mr. Van Arlen was coming towards him, his head bent to that courteous, suavely interested inclination which is a relic of the old school of politeness. No man under sixty has had the time, or the inclination, to practise these old-time graces. Aylmer rose, and held out his hand. Mr. Van Arlen, with profuse gesticulations, insisted on personally bringing forward a couple of low deck chairs into the shadow of the palms. He waved his visitor to take a seat. Aylmer bowed, but preferred, he said, to stand. There was a significance in his tone which did not escape, was, indeed, not meant to escape, his companion. The old gentleman gave him a keen and somewhat disquieted look. "But I cannot sit if you do not," he protested. He gave the back of the chair a seductive little pat. "Let me persuade you," he pleaded anxiously. "Mr. Van Arlen," said Aylmer, slowly, "I am not received here as a friend. I prefer, therefore, to give my message standing, as a matter of business." The gray, furrowed face flushed. "My dear sir!" protested the old man. "My dear sir!" "You obviously evade my hand; you do not desire to ask me inside your house?" insisted Aylmer, quietly. The other raised a hand which shook deprecatingly. But Aylmer forestalled his attempt at speech. "You do these things, or rather you avoid doing them, without any personal cause of complaint against me, but because my name is what it is?" Van Arlen's hand fell to his side. The pained remonstrative look faded from his eyes. His lips, which had quivered, grew suddenly set and were firmly pressed together. He seemed to increase in stature. "Is not my reason good?" he cried sharply, as if some relentlessly passionate impulse mastered all restraint. "No," said Aylmer, quietly, "though I grant your provocation has been ample. Let me tell you this. If there are any men breathing whose loathing of your son-in-law can equal your own, it is those who are tainted with his name. In the name of my kinsmen, a name all reputable till Landon smirched it, I tender you their sympathy and regret."