Mr. Wadham, Senior, looked a little startled. His son stopped whistling under his breath and leaned forward in his chair. "Clear off the mortgages," he repeated. "Precisely!" "The exact figures," was the somewhat hesitating pronouncement, "would require a quarter of an hour's study, but I should say that a sum of two hundred and twenty thousand pounds would be required." "I have not a head for figures," the Marquis acknowledged gravely, "but the amount seems trifling. I shall wish you good-day now, gentlemen. Two hundred and twenty thousand, I think you said, Mr. Wadham?" "That is as near the amount as possible," the lawyer admitted. The Marquis drew on his gloves, a sign that he did not intend to honour his adviser with any familiar form of farewell. He inclined his head slightly to Mr. Wadham, and more slightly still to Mr. Wadham, Junior, who was holding open the door. The small boy, who was on the alert, escorted him to the front steps, and received with delight a gracious word of thanks for his attentions. So the Marquis took his departure. Mr. Wadham, Junior, closed the door and threw himself into the chair which had been occupied by their distinguished client. There was a faint perfume of lavender water remaining in the atmosphere. His eyes wandered around the further rows of tin boxes which encumbered the wall. "I suppose," he murmured, "it's a great thing to have a Marquis for one's client." "I suppose it is," Mr. Wadham, Senior, assented gloomily. "Father, do you ever feel at ease with him?" his son asked curiously. "Do you ever feel as though you were talking to a real human being, of the same flesh and blood as yourself?" "Never for a single moment," was the vigorous reply. "If I felt like that, John, do you know what I should do? No? Well, then, I'll tell you. I should have those tin boxes taken out, one by one, and stacked in the hall. I should say to him, as plainly as I am saying it to you--'We lose money every year by your business, Marquis. We've had our turn. Try some one else--and go to the Devil!'" "But you couldn't do it!" Mr. Wadham, Junior, observed disconsolately. "I couldn't," his father agreed, with a note of subdued melancholy in his tone. CHAPTER VI Lady Margaret, who chanced to be the first arrival on the night of the dinner party in David Thain's honour, contemplated her sister admiringly. Letitia was wearing a gown of ivory satin, a form of attire which seemed always to bring with it almost startling reminiscences of her Italian ancestry. "So glad to find you alone, Letty," she remarked, as she sank into the most comfortable of the easy chairs. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you for weeks. Bob put it into my head again this afternoon." "What is it, dear?" Letitia enquired. "Why don't you marry Charlie Grantham?" her sister demanded abruptly. "There are so many reasons. First of all, he hasn't really ever asked me."