At this moment the door opened, and there entered a complex odour of hairwash and perfumery--a collar which must have been nearly related to a cuff, and a pair of tight patent-leather boots, all attached to and somewhat overpowering a young man. “Ah, my dear Mr. Grubb,” said Lady Cantourne, “how good of you to call so soon! You will have some tea. Millicent, give Mr. Grubb some tea.” “Not too strong,” added Sir John, apparently to himself, under the cover of Mr. Grubb's somewhat scrappy greeting. Then Lady Cantourne went to the conservatory and left Sir John and Jocelyn at the end of the long room together. There is nothing like a woman's instinct. Jocelyn spoke at once. “Lady Cantourne,” she said, “kindly asked me to meet you to-day on purpose. I live at Loango; I know your son, Mr. Meredith, and we thought you might like to hear about him and about Loango.” She knew that with a man like Sir John any indirect approach to the subject would be courting failure. His veiled old eyes suddenly lighted up, and he turned to glance over his shoulder. “Yes,” he said, with a strange hesitation, “yes--you are kind. Of course I am interested. I wonder,” he went on, with a sudden change of manner, “I wonder how much you know?” His unsteady hand was resting on her gloved fingers, and he blinked at it as if wondering how it got there. Jocelyn did not seem to notice. “I know,” she answered, “that you have had a difference of opinion--but no one else knows. You must not think that Mr. Meredith has spoken of his private affairs to any one else. The circumstances were exceptional, and Mr. Meredith thought that it was due to me to give me an explanation.” Sir John looked a little puzzled, and Jocelyn went on rather hastily to explain “My brother and Mr. Meredith were at Eton together. They met somewhere up the Coast, and my brother asked Mr. Meredith to come and stay. It happened that Maurice was away when Mr. Meredith arrived, and I did not know who he was, so he explained.” “I see,” said Sir John. “And you and your brother have been kind to my boy.” Somehow he seemed to have forgotten to be cynical. He had never known what it is to have a daughter, and she was ignorant of the pleasant everyday amenities of a father's love. As there is undoubtedly such a thing as love at first sight, so must there be sympathy at first sight. For Jocelyn it was comprehensible--nay, it was most natural. This was Jack's father. In his manner, in everything about him, there were suggestions of Jack. This seemed to be a creature hewn, as it were, from the same material, moulded on the same lines, with slightly divergent tools. And for him--who can tell? The love that was in her heart may have reached out to meet almost as great a love locked up in his proud soul. It may have shown itself to him, openly, fearlessly, recklessly, as love sometimes does when it is strong and pure.