harmless. I could not understand why he was at Dunfolly's, he seemed
of so little use, though Lady Malfire, who writes or something, mooned
with him a good deal. I believe there was some scandal or something
afterwards. I really do not know. But you are not a painter, and I
believe you have character--I fancy so."

"If you mean that I don't play fast and loose, sir, you are right.
What I do, I do as straight as a needle." The old man sighed carefully.

"You are very like Robert, and yet there is something else. I don't
know, I really don't know what!"

"I ought to have more in me than the rest of the family, sir."

This was somewhat startling. Sir William's fingers stroked his beardless
cheek uncertainly. "Possibly--possibly."

"I've lived a broader life, I've got wider standards, and there are three
races at work in me."

"Quite so, quite so;" and Sir William fumbled among his papers nervously.

"Sir," said Gaston suddenly, "I told you last night the honest story of
my life. I want to start fair and square. I want the honest story of my
father's life here; how and why he left, and what these letters mean."

He took from his pocket the notes he had found the night before, and
handed them. Sir William read them with a disturbed look, and turned
them over and over. Gaston told where he had found them.