a well-bred calmness of demeanour, Jack Meredith turned the teaching
against the instructor. He pursued the course of his social duties
without appearing to devote so much as a thought to the quarrel
which had taken place in the conservatory. His smile was as ready
as ever, his sight as keen where an elderly lady looked hungry, his
laughter as near the surface as society demands. It is probable
that Sir John suffered more, though he betrayed nothing. Youth has
the upper hand in these cases, for life is a larger thing when we
are young. As we get on in years, our eggs, to use a homely simile,
have a way of accumulating into one basket.

At eleven o'clock the next morning Sir John Meredith's valet
intimated to his master that Mr. Meredith was waiting in the
breakfast-room. Sir John was in the midst of his toilet--a
complicated affair, which, like other works of art, would not bear
contemplation when incomplete.

"Tell him," said the uncompromising old gentleman, "that I will come
down when I am ready."

He made a more careful toilet than usual, and finally came down in a
gay tweed suit, of which the general effect was distinctly
heightened by a pair of white gaiters. He was upright, trim, and
perfectly determined. Jack noted that his clothes looked a little
emptier than usual--that was all.

"Well," said the father, "I suppose we both made fools of ourselves
last night."

"I have not yet seen you do that," replied the son, laying aside the