Next morning, John Derringham sat at a late breakfast with his whilom
master of Greek and discussed things in general over his bacon and tea.

It was three years since he had left Oxford, and life held out many
interesting aspects for him. He was standing for the southern division
of his county in the following spring when the present member was going
to retire, and he was vehement in his views and clear as to the course
he meant to take. He was so eloquent in his discourse and so full of
that divine spark of enthusiasm, that he was always listened to, no
matter how unpalatably Tory the basic principles of his utterances were.
He never posed as anything but an aristocrat, and while he whimsically
admitted that in the present day to be one was an enormous disadvantage
for a man who wished to get on, he endeavored to palliate the misfortune
by lucid explanation of what the duties of such a status were, and of
the logical advantages which an appreciation of the truths of cause and
effect might bring to mankind. Down in his own country he was considered
the coming man. He thundered at the people and had facts and figures at
his finger tips. His sublime belief in himself never wavered and like
any inspired view, right or wrong, it had its strong effect.

Mr. Carlyon thought highly of him, for a number of reasons.

"If women do not make a stumbling-block for you, John, you will go far,"
he said as he buttered his toast.

"Women!" quoth John Derringham, and he laughed incredulously. "They
matter no more to me than the flowers in the garden--enchanting in the
summer time, a mere pleasure for sight and touch, but to make or mar a
man's life!--not even to be considered as factors in the scheme of