swagger but the sign-token of seasoned experience in the world. The most
carping could have found no flaw in the quiet taste of his attire. To sum
up, Kirkwood's very good friend--and his only one then in London--Mr.
Brentwick looked and was an English gentleman.

"Why?" he persisted, as the younger man hesitated. "I am here to find out.
To-night I leave for the Continent. In the meantime ..."

"And at midnight I sail for the States," added Kirkwood. "That is mainly
why I wished to see you--to say good-by, for the time."

"You're going home--" A shadow clouded Brentwick's clear eyes.

"To fight it out, shoulder to shoulder with my brethren in adversity."

The cloud lifted. "That is the spirit!" declared the elder man. "For the
moment I did you the injustice to believe that you were running away. But
now I understand. Forgive me.... Pardon, too, the stupidity which I must
lay at the door of my advancing years; to me the thought of you as a
Parisian fixture has become such a commonplace, Philip, that the news of
the disaster hardly stirred me. Now I remember that you are a Californian!"

"I was born in San Francisco," affirmed Kirkwood a bit sadly. "My father
and mother were buried there ..."

"And your fortune--?"

"I inherited my father's interest in the firm of Kirkwood & Vanderlip; when
I came over to study painting, I left everything in Vanderlip's hands. The
business afforded me a handsome living."