at a time. There was a clean-cut forcefulness even in his drinking,
typical of the human dynamo of will-power within.

Sir Francis puffed out a cloud of cigar-smoke with an air of reflected
glory. He had helped to capture Matheson as a son-in-law, and a
compliment of this kind was therefore an indirect compliment to himself.

The capture of Matheson was, in fact, the most notable achievement of
his career. Beyond that, he had done little but ornament the Boards of
companies with his name; manage his estate (through an agent) with a
mixture of cross conservatism and despotic benevolence; and shoot, hunt
and fish with impeccable "good form." He was typical of that very large
class of leisured landowner in whose creed good form is next above
godliness.

"Yes, Clifford has his head screwed on right," he said.

"Before he left for Canada," continued Larssen, "he managed to gouge me
for a tidy extra in shares for you and for Mrs Matheson."

Olive had been markedly listless, heavy-eyed and abstracted during the
course of the dinner, a point which Larssen had noted with some
puzzlement. His mind had worked over the reasons for it without arriving
at any definite conclusion. But now, at this unexpected announcement,
her eyes lighted up greedily.

"For me!" she exclaimed. "That's more than I expected from Clifford."

The shipowner reached to take out some papers from his breast-pocket,
then stopped. "I was forgetting. I oughtn't to be talking shop over the