Having been taught to take all the chances and changes of life with a well-bred calmness of demeanour, Jack Meredith turned the teaching against the instructor. He pursued the course of his social duties without appearing to devote so much as a thought to the quarrel which had taken place in the conservatory. His smile was as ready as ever, his sight as keen where an elderly lady looked hungry, his laughter as near the surface as society demands. It is probable that Sir John suffered more, though he betrayed nothing. Youth has the upper hand in these cases, for life is a larger thing when we are young. As we get on in years, our eggs, to use a homely simile, have a way of accumulating into one basket. At eleven o'clock the next morning Sir John Meredith's valet intimated to his master that Mr. Meredith was waiting in the breakfast-room. Sir John was in the midst of his toilet--a complicated affair, which, like other works of art, would not bear contemplation when incomplete. “Tell him,” said the uncompromising old gentleman, “that I will come down when I am ready.” He made a more careful toilet than usual, and finally came down in a gay tweed suit, of which the general effect was distinctly heightened by a pair of white gaiters. He was upright, trim, and perfectly determined. Jack noted that his clothes looked a little emptier than usual--that was all. “Well,” said the father, “I suppose we both made fools of ourselves last night.” “I have not yet seen you do that,” replied the son, laying aside the morning paper which he had been reading. Sir John smiled grimly. He hoped that Jack was right. “Well,” he added, “let us call it a difference of opinion.” “Yes.” Something in the monosyllable made the old gentleman's lips twitch nervously. “I may mention,” he said, with a dangerous suavity, “that I still hold to my opinion.” Jack Meredith rose, without haste. This, like the interview of the previous night, was conducted upon strictly high-bred and gentlemanly lines. “And I to mine,” he said. “That is why I took the liberty of calling at this early hour. I thought that perhaps we might effect some sort of a compromise.” “It is very good of you to make the proposal.” Sir John kept his fingers away from his lips by an obvious exercise of self-control. “I am not partial to compromises: they savour of commerce.” Jack gave a queer, curt nod, and moved towards the door. Sir John extended his unsteady hand and rang the bell. “Good-morning,” he said. “Graves,” he added, to the servant who stood in the doorway, “when you have closed the door behind Mr. Meredith, bring up breakfast, if you please.” On the doorstep Jack Meredith looked at his watch. He had an appointment with Millicent Chyne at half-past eleven--an hour when Lady Cantourne might reasonably be expected to be absent at the weekly meeting of a society which, under the guise and nomenclature of friendship, busied itself in making servant girls discontented with their situations.