entertainment he had made inadequate provision--sitting, as it seemed,
very close on either side of him. Then that happened which altered all
the values. Dominic Iglesias suddenly saw a person whom he knew.

He had seen that same person about three hours previously in the bank in
Threadneedle Street, while waiting for admittance to Sir Abel's private
room. Rumour accredited this handsome young gentleman--Sir Abel's
youngest son--with tastes expensive rather than profitable, liberal
socially, rather than estimable ethically, declaring him to be distinctly
of the nature of the proverbial thorn in the banker's otherwise very
prosperous side. He had, so said rumour, the fortune or misfortune, as
you chose to take it, of being at once a considerably bad boy and a
distinctly charming one. Be all that as it might, the young man had
certainly presented a grimly anxious countenance when, without so much as
a nod of recognition, he had stalked past Mr. Iglesias in the dim light
of the glass and mahogany-walled corridor. But now, as the latter noted,
his expression had changed, and that very much for the better. The young
man's face was flushed and eager, and his teeth showed white and even
under his reddish brown moustache. If anxieties still pursued him they
were in subjection to one main anxiety, the anxiety to please, which of
all anxieties is the most engaging and grace-begetting.

Just then the traffic was held up, thus enabling Iglesias from his perch
on the 'bustop to receive a more than fleeting impression. Two ladies
were seated opposite the young man in the carriage. In them Iglesias
recognised persons of very secure social standing. The elder he supposed
to be Lady Sokeington--Alaric Barking's half-sister--to whom, on the
occasion of her marriage, twelve or thirteen years ago, he had had the
expensive honour of presenting, in his own name and that of his
colleagues, a costly gift of plate. The other lady, so it appeared to