of me in my absence?"

"He never says very much about anybody."

"But a word would let me know how the land lies. You know me well
enough to be aware that I am the last man to be curious as to what
others think of me. Indeed I do not care about it as much as a man
should do. I am utterly indifferent to the opinion of the world at
large, and would never object to the company of a pleasant person
because the pleasant person abused me behind my back. What I value
is the pleasantness of the man and not his liking or disliking for
myself. But here the dearest aim of my life is concerned, and I might
be guided either this way or that, to my great advantage, by knowing
whether I stand well or ill with him."

"You have dined three times within the last three months in
Manchester Square, and I don't know any other man,--certainly no
other young man,--who has had such strong proof of intimacy from my
father."

"Yes, and I know my advantages. But I have been there as your friend,
not as his."

"He doesn't care twopence about my friends. I wanted to give Charlie
Skate a dinner, but my father wouldn't have him at any price."

"Charlie Skate is out at elbows, and bets at billiards. I am
respectable,--or at any rate your father thinks so. Your father is
more anxious about you than you are aware of, and wishes to make his
house pleasant to you as long as he can do so to your advantage. As
far as you are concerned he rather approves of me, fancying that
my turn for making money is stronger than my turn for spending it.
Nevertheless, he looks upon me as a friend of yours rather than his
own. Though he has given me three dinners in three months,--and I own
the greatness of his hospitality,--I don't suppose he ever said a
word in my favour. I wish I knew what he does say."

"He says he knows nothing about you."

"Oh;--that's it, is it? Then he can know no harm. When next he says
so ask him of how many of the men who dine at his house he can say as
much. Good night;--I won't keep you any longer. But I can tell you
this;--if between us we can manage to handle him rightly, you may get
your seat in Parliament and I may get my wife;--that is, of course,
if she will have me."

Then they parted, but Lopez remained in the pathway, walking up
and down by the side of the old military club, thinking of things.
He certainly knew his friend, the younger Wharton, intimately,
appreciating the man's good qualities, and being fully aware of
t