"So I should guess," said Travers, dryly.

"And--and," faltered Sir Peter, "if the last of the race fails, he
must lean upon me, and--if one of the two break down--it shall not
be--"

"Shall not be that cross-cropping blockhead, my dear Sir Peter. This
is carrying benevolence too far."

Here the tact and /savoir vivre/ of Chillingly Gordon came to the
rescue of the host. Possessing himself of the "Times" newspaper, he
uttered an exclamation of surprise, genuine or simulated, and read
aloud an extract from the leading article, announcing an impending
change in the Cabinet.

As soon as he could quit the breakfast-table, Sir Peter hurried into
his library and there gave himself up to the study of Kenelm's
unwelcome communication. The task took him long, for he stopped at
intervals, overcome by the struggle of his heart, now melted into
sympathy with the passionate eloquence of a son hitherto so free from
amorous romance, and now sorrowing for the ruin of his own cherished
hopes. This uneducated country girl would never be such a helpmate to
a man like Kenelm as would have been Cecilia Travers. At length,
having finished the letter, he buried his head between his clasped
hands, and tried hard to realize the situation that placed the father
and son into such direct antagonism.

"But," he murmured, "after all it is the boy's happiness that must be
consulted. If he will not be happy in my way, what right have I to