"Yes." And then the old squire became rather grave and absent-minded, and both men ate their dinner for a while in silence. In the mind of the elder was running the thought of what an awful thing had been avoided. His son might easily have met his death--this son from whom he had been estranged for years, and from whom now, he wondered how he could have spent those years of his old age apart. His glance wandered furtively to a portrait upon the wall. It was that of another son--a younger one--Wagram's half-brother; a handsome, reckless face, but there was a shifty look in the narrowness between the eyes, that even the travesty of the portrait painter's art could not altogether hide. For years past this one's whereabouts had been a mystery; even his fate-- even were he alive or dead. He had left home in a hurry and in anger, had left perforce to avoid a great scandal and disgrace, wherein, moreover, a question of felony was involved. This had befallen more than ten years earlier, and almost ever since nothing had been heard of the exile. When last heard of he was in Australia, then to all inquiries there was a blank, and as time went on, more and more did those he had left assume that he was dead. For the wanderer's own sake, the old squire in his heart of hearts could almost have brought himself to hope so. For of Everard Wagram the best description had been "a bad lot"--an all round bad lot, and for years his father and brother had lived in secret dread of any day hearing he had come to a bad end. Now gazing at the portrait, the old man was furtively making comparison between its original and Wagram; wondering, too, for the hundredth time, not that there should be any difference between them, but that their characters should be so entirely and completely divergent. But they were of different mothers, and behind this fact lay a good deal. They had both had the same chances, but different mothers, and the younger man had gone utterly to the bad. "Did you say the young lady's bicycle was smashed, Wagram?" said the Squire at last, reverting to the adventure. "All to smithereens. But I've drawn up a wire to Gee and Vincent to send her the latest thing up to date, and that sharp. I've also written Warren to let her have one on hire until it comes." "Yes, that's quite right. But I doubt if it'll end there. Calmour's quite capable of threatening an action for damages with a view to compromise. He's a most astonishing cad, and chronically hard up." "Poor devil. In the latter line he has my sympathy," said Wagram. "But it wasn't he who got damaged, it was the girl." "That's just it, and that's where he'll score. If she's put in the box, from your description of her the conscientious and respectable British jury that won't give her damages doesn't exist."