en in fragments
about him.

"Well--I never earned it!"--he said to himself bitterly, turning in
disgust on his own self-pity.

When he reached the library he found his father walking up and down deep
in thought. He looked up as his son entered.

"Well, that saves the bankruptcy, Duggy, and--as far as I can
see--leaves a few thousands over--portions for the younger children, and
what will enable you to turn round."

Douglas assented silently. After a long look at his son, Sir Arthur
opened a side door which led from the library into the suite of
drawing-rooms. Slowly he passed through them, examining the pictures
steadily, one by one. At the end of the series, he turned and came back
again to his own room, with a bent head and meditative step. Falloden
followed him.

In the library, Sir Arthur suddenly straightened himself.

"Duggy, do you hate me--for the mess I've made--of your inheritance?"

The question stirred a quick irritation in Falloden. It seemed to him
futile and histrionic; akin to all those weaknesses in his father which
had brought them disaster.

"I don't think you need ask me that," he said, rather sharply, as he
opened a drawer in his father's writing-table, and locked up the paper
containing Herr Schwarz's offer.

Sir Arthur looked at him wistfully.

"You've been a brick, Duggy--since I told you. I don't know that I had
any right to count upon it."

"What else could I do?" said Douglas, trying to laugh, but
conscious--resenting it--of a swelling in the throat.

"You could have given a good many more twists to the screw--if you'd
been a different sort," said his father slowly. "And you're a tough
customer, Duggy, to some people. But to me"--He paused, beginning again
in another tone--

"Duggy, don't be offended with me--but did you ever want to marry Lady
Constance Bledlow? You wrote to me about her at Christmas."

Douglas gave a rather excited laugh.

"It's rather late in the day to ask me that question."

His father eyed him.

"You mean she refused you?"

His son nodded.

"Before this collapse?"

"Before she knew anything about it"

"Poor old Duggy!" said his father, in a low voice. "But perhaps--after
all--she'll think better of it. By all accounts she has the charm of her
mother, whom Risborough married to please himself and not his family."

Falloden said nothing. He wished to goodness his father would drop the
subject. Sir Arthur understood he was touching things too s