service--and had refused the one and the other. "I like horses," he
said, "and I mean to get my living out of them. Don't talk to me about
my position in the world. Talk to my eldest brother, who gets the money
and the title." Starting in life with these sensible views, and with a
small capital of five thousand pounds, Hardyman took his own place in
the sphere that was fitted for him. At the period of this narrative
he was already a rich man, and one of the greatest authorities on
horse-breeding in England. His prosperity made no change in him. He was
always the same grave, quiet, obstinately resolute man--true to the few
friends whom he admitted to his intimacy, and sincere to a fault in the
expression of his feelings among persons whom he distrusted or disliked.
As he entered the picture-gallery and paused for a moment looking at
Felix on the sofa, his large, cold, steady gray eyes rested on the
little man with an indifference that just verged on contempt. Felix, on
the other hand, sprang to his feet with alert politeness and greeted his
friend with exuberant cordiality.

"Dear old boy! This is so good of you," he began. "I feel it--I do
assure you I feel it!"

"You needn't trouble yourself to feel it," was the quietly-ungracious
answer. "Lady Lydiard brings me here. I come to see the house--and the
dog." He looked round the gallery in his gravely attentive way. "I don't
understand pictures," he remarked resignedly. "I shall go back to the
drawing-room."

After a moment's consideration, Felix followed him into the
drawing-room, with the air of a man who was determined not to be
repelled.