when those other formal folk, who spend their lives in keeping their
dignity, would be lofty and superior.

When Gaston looked at his father's clothes and turned them over,
he had a twinge of honest emotion; but his mind was on the dinner and
his heritage, and he only said, as he frowned at the tightness of the
waistband:

"Never mind, we'll make 'em pay, shot and wadding, for what you lost,
Robert Belward; and wherever you are, I hope you'll see it."

In twelve minutes from the time he entered the bedroom he was ready.
He pulled the bell-cord, and then passed out. A servant met him on the
stairs, and in another minute he was inside the dining-room. Sir
William's eyes flashed up. There was smouldering excitement in his face,
but one could not have guessed at anything unusual. A seat had been
placed for Gaston beside him. The situation was singular and trying.
It would have been easier if he had merely come into the drawing-room
after dinner. This was in Sir William's mind when he asked him to dine;
but it was as it was. Gaston's alert glance found the empty seat. He
was about to make towards it, but he caught Sir William's eye and saw it
signal him to the end of the table near him. His brain was working with
celerity and clearness. He now saw the woman whose portrait had so
fascinated him in the library. As his eyes fastened on her here, he
almost fancied he could see the boy's--his father's-face looking over
her shoulder.

He instantly went to her, and said: "I am sorry to be late."

His first impulse had been to offer his hand, as, naturally, he would