glanced, not at his father, but in his direction. "He will appreciate
it, I know."

"I should like to see him to-morrow."

Jack winced, as if he had made a mistake.

"He is not in England," he explained. "I left him behind me in Africa.
He has gone back to the Simiacine Plateau."

The old man's face dropped rather piteously.

"I am sorry," he said, with one of the sudden relapses into old age that
Lady Cantourne dreaded. "I may not have a chance of seeing him to
thank him personally. A good servant is so rare nowadays. These modern
democrats seem to think that it is a nobler thing to be a bad servant
than a good one. As if we were not all servants!"

He was thirsting for details. There were a thousand questions in his
heart, but not one on his lips.

"Will you have the kindness to remember my desire," he went on suavely,
"when you are settling up with your man?"

"Thank you," replied Jack; "I am much obliged to you."

"And in the meantime as you are without a servant you may as well
make use of mine. One of my men--Henry--who is too stupid to get into
mischief--a great recommendation by the way--understands his business. I
will ring and have him sent over to your rooms at once."

He did so, and they sat in silence until the butler had come and gone.

"We have been very successful with the Simiacine--our scheme," said Jack
suddenly.

"Ah!"

"I have brought home a consignment valued at seventy thousand pounds."

Sir John's face never changed.

"And," he asked, with veiled sarcasm, "do you carry out
the--er--commercial part of the scheme?"

"I shall begin to arrange for the sale of the consignment to-morrow.
I shall have no difficulty--at least, I anticipate none. Yes, I do the
commercial part--as well as the other. I held the Plateau against two
thousand natives for three months, with fifty-five men. But I do the
commercial part as well."

As he was looking into the fire still, Sir John stole a long
comprehensive glance at his son's face. His old eyes lighted up with
pride and something else--possibly love. The clock on the mantelpiece
struck eleven. Jack looked at it thoughtfully, then he rose.

"I must not keep you any longer," he said, somewhat stiffly.

Sir John rose also.

"I dare say you are tired; you need rest. In some ways you look
stronger, in others you look fagged and pulled down."

"It is the result of my illness," said Jack. "I am really quite strong."

He paused, standing on the