The commonplace, as it often does, brought reaction. He scribbled a line, fixing the appointment at twelve. ***** He found Roderick pacing up and down the stiffly furnished and somewhat dingy private sitting-room of the White Hart Hotel. The two men brought suddenly face to face remained for a while in an embarrassed silence, each looking in the eyes of the other. For the first time Sylvester realised in all its significance the blood tie that bound them. This man was his brother. Grotesque and incongruous though it seemed, the fact was driven home to him as by some mighty blow. This man's mother was his mother,--the mother who had sung him to sleep as a little child, who had listened to his boyish confidence, who had been inwoven in all his early life, whose voice whose caress, whose fragrance, lingered vividly in all his senses, whose body and soul were unalienably _his_. A horrible jealousy seized him. Roderick, though point-device in blue serge suit and saffron-silk tie, looked aged and careworn. The lines under his eyes had deepened. He had lost flesh, and his cheeks were flabby. He was the first to break the silence. “It may be absurd for a man of forty to talk about his mother, but if I had had your advantages in that respect, I might have been a better man.” Then Sylvester's jealousy vanished, and he remembered the wrong that had been done. “My father did all that a human soul could do to make atonement,” said he. “And mine did everything in his power to prevent it. Will you sit down?” Roderick motioned Sylvester to a chair, and sat down near him. “I don't pretend to love my father. I never had reason to. I am a bad lot, I know, but compared to him, I am the incarnation of virtue. When I forged the cheque, I was given to understand for the first time that my father had some mysterious hold over Mr. Lanyon. But, as God hears me, I never dreamed until last night of the true nature of the case. Do you believe me?” “Yes,” said Sylvester; “I believe you.” “Thank you,” returned Roderick; “now I know where I am.” He lit a cigarette, having offered his case to Sylvester, who declined. “It is now in my power,” said he, after enjoying the first two fragrant whiffs, “to restore the money I stole from you. You observe I have the grace to use the naked expression. Will you accept it?” “Certainly,” said Sylvester. “It is but just.” “Did you think I would repay you?” “Frankly speaking, no.” “And having heard my father's story last night, do you think I'll touch a penny of your father's money?” he cried, bringing his hand with a thump on the round centre-table. “My God! I would sooner die.” “The balance above the three thousand is yours,” said Sylvester. “I cannot accept a gift from you.” Roderick puffed violently at his cigarette, threw it away, and rose to his feet excitedly.