"Of course I am," the younger man answered brutally. "It's your own
fault. You choose to make a fisherman or a labouring man of
yourself. I haven't seen you in a decent suit of clothes for years.
You won't dress for dinner. Your hands and skin are like a
ploughboy's. And, d--n it all, you're my elder brother! I've got to
introduce you to my friends as the head of the De la Bornes, and
practically their host. No wonder I don't like it!"

There was a moment's silence. If his words hurt, Andrew made no
sign. With a shrug of the shoulders he turned towards the staircase.

"There is no reason," he remarked, carelessly enough, "why I should
inflict the humiliation of my presence on you or on your friends. I
am going down to the Island. You shall entertain your friends and
play the host to your heart's content. It will be more comfortable
for both of us."

Cecil prided himself upon a certain impassivity of features and
manner which some fin de siecle oracle of the cities had pronounced
good form, but he was not wholly able to conceal his relief. Such an
arrangement was entirely to his liking. It solved the situation
satisfactorily in more ways than one.

"It's a thundering good idea, Andrew, if you're sure you'll be
comfortable there," he declared. "I don't believe you would get on
with my friends a bit. They're not your sort. Seems like turning you
out of your own house, though."

"It is of no consequence," Andrew said coldly. "I shall be perfectly