"Not startling"--answered Gwent--then paused--and repeated--"Not startling--there's nothing startling nowadays--though some folks made a very good show of being startled when my nephew Jack shot himself." Seaton stopped in his walk. "Shot himself? That lad? Was he insane?" "Of course!--according to the coroner. Everybody is called 'insane' who gets out of the world when it's too difficult to live in. Some people would call it sane. I call it just--cowardice! Jack had lost his last chance, you see. Morgana Royal threw him over." Seaton paced along with a velvet-footed stride like a tiger on a trail. "Had she led him on?" "Rather! She leads all men 'on'--or they think she does. She led YOU on at one time!" Seaton turned upon him with a quick, savage movement. "Never! I saw through her from the first! She could never make a fool of ME!" Sam Gwent gave a short cough, expressing incredulity. "Well! Washington thought you were the favoured 'catch' and envied your luck! Certainly she showed a great preference for you--" "Can't you talk of something else?" interposed Seaton, impatiently. Gwent gave him an amused side-glance. "Why, of course I can!" he responded--"But I thought I'd tell you about Jack--" "I'm sorry!" said Seaton, hastily, conscious that he had been lacking in sympathy--"He was your heir, I believe?" "Yes,--he might have been, had he kept a bit straighter"--said Gwent--"But heirs are no good anywhere or anyhow. They only spend what they inherit and waste the honest work of a life-time. Is that your prize palace?" He pointed to the hut which they had almost reached. "That's it!" answered Seaton--"And I prefer it to any palace ever built. No servants, no furniture, no useless lumber--just a place to live in--enough for any man." "A tub was enough for Diogenes"--commented Gwent--"If we all lived in his way or your way it would be a poor look-out for trade! However, I presume you'll escape taxation here!" Seaton made no reply, but led the way into his dwelling, offering his visitor a chair. "I hope you've had breakfast"--he said--"For I haven't any to give you. You can have a glass of milk if you like?" Gwent made a wry face. "I'm not a good subject for primitive nourishment"--he said--"I've been weaned too long for it to agree with me!" He sat down. His eyes were at once attracted by the bowl of restless fluid on the table. "What's that?" he asked. Roger Seaton smiled enigmatically. "Only a trifle"--he answered--"Just health! It's a sort of talisman;--germ-proof, dust-proof, disease-proof! No microbe of mischief, however infinitesimal, can exist near it, and a few drops, taken into the system, revivify the whole." "If that's so, your fortune's made"--said Gwent, "Give your discovery, or recipe, or whatever it is, to the world---"