be-wigged buffer, who spoke as if he were eating his own
words--queer-looking old cuss, the sort of man he had seen once or twice
dining at Park Lane and punishing the port; he knew now where they 'dug
them up.' All the same he found the old buffer quite fascinating, and
would have continued to stare if his mother had not touched his arm.
Reduced to gazing before him, he fixed his eyes on the Judge's face
instead. Why should that old 'sportsman' with his sarcastic mouth and
his quick-moving eyes have the power to meddle with their private
affairs--hadn't he affairs of his own, just as many, and probably just as
nasty? And there moved in Val, like an illness, all the deep-seated
individualism of his breed. The voice behind him droned along:
"Differences about money matters--extravagance of the respondent"
(What a word! Was that his father?)--"strained situation--frequent
absences on the part of Mr. Dartie. My client, very rightly, your
Ludship will agree, was anxious to check a course--but lead to
ruin--remonstrated--gambling at cards and on the racecourse--" ('That's
right!' thought Val, 'pile it on!') "Crisis early in October, when the
respondent wrote her this letter from his Club." Val sat up and his ears
burned. "I propose to read it with the emendations necessary to the
epistle of a gentleman who has been--shall we say dining, me Lud?"

'Old brute!' thought Val, flushing deeper; 'you're not paid to make
jokes!'

"'You will not get the chance to insult me again in my own house. I am
leaving the country to-morrow. It's played out'--an expression, your
Ludship, not unknown in the mouths of those who have not met with
conspicuous success."

'Sniggering owls!' thought Val, and his flush deepened.

"'I am tired of being insulted by you.' My client will tell your Ludship
that these so-called insults consisted in her calling him 'the limit',--a
very mild expression, I venture to suggest, in all the circumstances."

Val glanced sideways at his mother's impassive face, it had a hunted look
in the eyes. 'Poor mother,' he thought, and touched her arm with his
own. The voice behind droned on.

"'I am going to live a new life. M. D.'"

"And next day, me Lud, the respondent left by the steamship Tuscarora for
Buenos Aires. Since then we have nothing from him but a cabled refusal
in answer to the letter which my client wrote the following day in great
distress, begging him to return to her. With your Ludship's