“You must excuse my taking you by surprise at this--unusual hour.” He turned; saw the lamp, the book, and the eyeglasses--more especially the eyeglasses, which seemed to break the train of his thoughts. “I only landed at Liverpool this afternoon,” he went on, with hopeless politeness. “I did not trouble you with a telegram, knowing that you object to them.” The old man bowed gravely. “I am always glad to see you,” he said suavely. “Will you not sit down?” And they had begun wrong. It is probable that neither of them had intended this. Both had probably dreamed of a very different meeting. But both alike had counted without that stubborn pride which will rise up at the wrong time and in the wrong place--the pride which Jack Meredith had inherited by blood and teaching from his father. “I suppose you have dined,” said Sir John, when they were seated, “or may I offer you something?” “Thanks, I dined on the way up--in a twilit refreshment-room, with one waiter and a number of attendant black-beetles.” Things were going worse and worse. Sir John smiled, and he was still smiling when the man brought in coffee. “Yes,” he said conversationally, “for speed combined with discomfort I suppose we can hold up heads against any country. Seeing that you are dressed, I supposed that you had dined in town.” “No. I drove straight to my rooms, and kept the cab while I dressed.” What an important matter this dressing seemed to be! And there were fifteen months behind it--fifteen months which had aged one of them and sobered the other. Jack was sitting forward in his chair with his immaculate dress-shoes on the fender--his knees apart, his elbows resting on them, his eyes still fixed on the fire. Sir John looked keenly at him beneath his frowning, lashless lids. He saw the few grey hairs over Jack's ears, the suggested wrinkles, the drawn lines about his mouth. “You have been ill?” he said. Joseph's letter was locked away in the top drawer of his writing-table. “Yes, I had rather a bad time--a serious illness. My man nursed me through it, however, with marked success; and--the Gordons, with whom I was staying, were very kind.” “I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Gordon.” Jack's face was steady--suavely impenetrable. Sir John moved a little, and set his empty cup upon the table. “A charming girl,” he added. “Yes.” There was a little pause. “You are fortunate in that man of yours,” Sir John said. “A first-class man.” “Yes--he saved my life.” Sir John blinked, and for the first time his fingers went to his mouth, as if his lips had suddenly got beyond his control. “If I may suggest it,” he said rather indistinctly, “I think it would be well if we signified our appreciation of his devotion in some substantial way. We might well do something between us.” He paused and threw back his shoulders. “I should like to give him some substantial token of my--gratitude.” Sir John was nothing if not just.