ight explain to you...."

Lord Evelyn, with averted face, said, "Be good enough to be silent, sir.
I have no desire to hear any of your remarks. I have come merely to see
your half-brother."

"Of course," said Hilary, who was sensitive, "if you take that line,
there is nothing to be said between you and me."

Lord Evelyn acknowledged this admission with a slight inclination of the
head.

"Nothing whatever, sir."

So there was silence, till Peter came in, pale and sickly and
influenzaish, but with a smile for Lord Evelyn. It was extraordinarily
nice of Lord Evelyn, he thought, to have come all the way to Brook Street
in the rain to see him.

Lord Evelyn looked at him queerly, intently, out of his short-sighted
eyes as they shook hands.

"I wish to talk to you," he remarked, with meaning.

Hilary took the hint, looked proud, said, "I see that my room is
preferred to my company," and went away.

When he had gone, Peter said, "Do sit down," but Lord Evelyn took no
notice of that. He had come to see Peter in his need, but he had not
forgiven him, and he would remain standing in his house. Peter had once
hurt him so badly that the mere sight of him quickened his breath and
flushed his cheek. He tapped his cane impatiently against his grey spats.

"You're ill," he said, accusingly.

"Oh, I've only had flu," said Peter; "I'm all right now."

"You're ill," Lord Evelyn repeated. "Don't contradict me, sir. You're
ill; you're in want; and you're bringing up a baby on insufficient diet.
What?"

"Not a bit," said Peter. "I am not in want, nor is Thomas. Thomas' diet
is so sufficient that I'm often afraid he'll burst with it."

Lord Evelyn said, "You're probably lying. But if you're not, why d'ye
countenance your sister-in-law's begging letters? You're a hypocrite,
sir. But that's nothing I didn't know before, you may say. Well, you're
right there."

Lord Evelyn's anger was working up. He hadn't known it would be so
difficult to talk to Peter and remain calm.

"You want to make a fool of me again," he broke out, "so you join in a
lying letter and bring me here on false pretences. At least, I suppose it
was really Lucy you thought to bring. You play on Lucy's soft heart,
knowing you can squeeze money out of her--and so you can afford to say
you've no use for mine. Is that it?"

Peter said, dully looking at his anger as at an ancient play re-staged,
"I don't know what you're talking about. I know nothing of any let