Derrington, at his own table, was too polite to press the matter, but he scored up another victory to Brendon's strong will. More, he passed off the matter with a laugh. "You have the hereditary gout, I see, George, when you are afraid of a glass of port." "It's not that, sir, but I drink very little. I work on milk." "Bah!" Derrington made a wry face. "Then your work----" "Is all the better for it. Those who drink beer think beer." "And those who drink milk think cows, I should say." "Your knowledge on that point prevents contradiction on mine." Derrington chuckled. This was just the kind of epigrammatic reply he relished. "You must enter the Diplomatic Service sir," said he, looking approvingly from under his bushy brows. "Don't you think I'm rather old?" "Brains are never old, sir. And you have 'em. It's what the Diplomatic Service in this country requires and what it never gets. I was in the Service myself at one time." "So I have heard," said Brendon, cracking nuts composedly. "Eh! What did you hear?" "You must excuse me at your own table, sir." "Pooh, if you want to say anything disagreeable my own table is the safest place you can say it at. I can't throw things at you." "Still, a guest must be polite," argued George. "I like my guests to be truthful." "Very well, sir, if you will have it--and I feel that it would be bad manners to refuse your request--it is said that you nearly set Europe by the ears when you were ambassador." Derrington roared. "I did--I did, and I wish I had brought about the war I wanted. It would have done no end of good." "Does war ever do good?" asked Brendon, doubtfully. "Certainly. It stirs up things, and teaches men how to use their hands and brains. Without war there is too much wrapping up in cotton-wool. Don't tell me, George, that you aren't a soldier at heart, for nearly all your ancestors fought for their country. "And fought their country also, I believe." "When they didn't get their rights," said Derrington, grimly. "I have been a fighter myself all my life, and I've held my own." "So they say, sir, and I admire you for it." "Hah! Very good of you, I'm sure," said Derrington, ironically, "but in my old age I can't hold my own, so I have to call in you." George looked surprised. "Do you intend to do me the honor to ask for my advice, sir?" "Bless my soul, are you also without understanding, sir? Didn't I say so when you first came?" "Of course. I forgot." "You shouldn't forget, though it's useful at times to do so." "In what cases, sir?" "Forget a woman's age, forget to talk about yourself, and forget your relations if you can. Come," he added, seeing George laughing, "the wine and food have thawed you. There's coffee in the library, and we can talk over our cigars. Up I get. George, your arm."