Oscard submitted silently to this high-handed arrangement. He had not known Sir John well. Indeed, all his intercourse with him has been noted in these pages. He was rather surprised to find him so talkative and so very friendly. But Guy Oscard was not a very deep person. He was sublimely indifferent to the Longdrawn Motive. He presumed that Sir John made friends of his son's friends; and in his straightforward acceptance of facts he was perfectly well aware that by his timely rescue he had saved Jack Meredith from the hands of the tribes. The presumption was that Sir John knew of this, and it was only natural that he should be somewhat exceptionally gracious to the man who had saved his son's life. It would seem that Sir John divined these thoughts, for he presently spoke of them. “Owing to an unfortunate difference of opinion with my son we have not been very communicative lately,” he said, with that deliberation which he knew how to assume when he desired to be heard without interruption. “I am therefore almost entirely ignorant of your African affairs, but I imagine Jack owes more to your pluck and promptness than has yet transpired. I gathered as much from one or two conversations I had with Miss Gordon when she was in England. I am one of Miss Gordon's many admirers.” “And I am another,” said Oscard frankly. “Ah! Then you are happy enough to be the object of a reciprocal feeling which for myself I could scarcely expect. She spoke of you in no measured language. I gathered from her that if you had not acted with great promptitude the--er--happy event of to-morrow could not have taken place.” The old man paused, and Guy Oscard, who looked somewhat distressed and distinctly uncomfortable, could find no graceful way of changing the conversation. “In a word,” went on Sir John in a very severe tone, “I owe you a great debt. You saved my boy's life.” “Yes, but you see,” argued Oscard, finding his tongue at last, “out there things like that don't count for so much.” “Oh--don't they?” There was the suggestion of a smile beneath Sir John's grim eyebrows. “No,” returned Oscard rather lamely, “it is a sort of thing that happens every day out there.” Sir John turned suddenly, and with the courtliness that was ever his he indulged in a rare exhibition of feeling. He laid his hand on Guy Oscard's stalwart knee.