ights so low, there was bound to be opposition. No dash nowadays;
nothing but gabby caution! They were a scrim-shanking lot on the
Board--he had had to pull them round one by one--the deuce of a tug
getting this thing through! And yet, the business was sound enough.
Those ships would earn money, properly handled-good money

His valet, coming in to prepare him for dinner, found him asleep. He had
for the old man as much admiration as may be felt for one who cannot put
his own trousers on. He would say to the housemaid Molly: "He's a game
old blighter--must have been a rare one in his day. Cocks his hat at you,
even now, I see!" To which the girl, Irish and pretty, would reply:
"Well, an' sure I don't mind, if it gives um a pleasure. 'Tis better
anyway than the sad eye I get from herself."

At dinner, old Heythorp always sat at one end of the rosewood table and
his daughter at the other. It was the eminent moment of the day. With
napkin tucked high into his waistcoat, he gave himself to the meal with
passion. His palate was undimmed, his digestion unimpaired. He could
still eat as much as two men, and drink more than one. And while he
savoured each mouthful he never spoke if he could help it. The holy
woman had nothing to say that he cared to hear, and he nothing to say
that she cared to listen to. She had a horror, too, of what she called
"the pleasures of the table"--those lusts of the flesh! She was always
longing to dock his grub, he knew. Would see her further first! What
other pleasures were there at his age? Let her wait till she was eighty.
But she never would be; too thin and holy!

This evening, however, with the advent of the partridge she did speak.

"Who were your visitors, Father?"

Trust her for nosing anything out! Fixing his little blue eyes on her,
he mumbled with a very full mouth: "Ladies."

"So I saw; what ladies?"

He had a longing to say: 'Part of one of my families under the rose.' As
a fact it was the best part of the only one, but the temptation to
multiply exceedingly was almost overpowering. He checked himself,
however, and went on eating partridge, his secret irritation crimsoning
his cheeks; and he watched her eyes, those cold precise and round grey
eyes, noting it, and knew she was thinking: 'He eats too much.'

She said: "Sorry I'm not considered fit to be told. You ought not to be
drinking hock."

Old Heythorp took up the long green glass, drained it, and repre