possessed a refined muliebrity superior to mere womanliness of outline,
turned slightly towards Sir Robert. "Lady Canterbridge, Frank's cousin,"
explained Sir Robert, hesitatingly, as if conscious of some vague
awkwardness. Bradley and Lady Canterbridge both bowed,--possibly the
latter's salutation was the most masculine,--and Bradley, eventually
forgetting her presence, plunged into an earnest, sympathetic, and
intelligent account of the condition in which he found the invalid at
St. Moritz. The old man at first listened with an almost perfunctory
courtesy and a hesitating reserve; but as Bradley was lapsing into
equal reserve and they drove up to the gates of the quadrangle, he
unexpectedly warmed with a word or two of serious welcome. Looking up
with a half-unconscious smile, Bradley met Lady Canterbridge's examining
eyes.

The next morning, finding an opportunity to be alone with him, Bradley,
with a tactful mingling of sympathy and directness informed his host
that he was cognizant of the disaster that had overtaken the Bank, and
delicately begged him to accept any service he could render him. "Pardon
me," he said, "if I speak as plainly to you as I would to your son: my
friendship for him justifies an equal frankness to any one he loves; but
I should not intrude upon your confidence if I did not believe that my
knowledge and assistance might be of benefit to you. Although I did not
sell my lands to Richardson or approve of his methods," he continued, "I
fear it was some suggestion of mine that eventually induced him to form
the larger and more disastrous scheme that ruined the Bank. So you see,"
he added lightly, "I claim a right to offer you my services." Touched
by Bradley's sincerity and discreet intelligence, Sir Robert was equally
frank. During the recital of his Californian investments--a chronicle
of almost fatuous speculation and imbecile enterprise--Bradley was
profoundly moved at the naive ignorance of business and hopeless