o soon."

"There is that," his lordship admitted thoughtfully, a little hopefully,
even; "there is that." And with the resilience of his nature--of men
who form opinions on slight grounds, and, therefore, are ready to change
them upon grounds as slight--"I' faith! I may have been running to meet
my trouble. 'Tis but a rumor, after all, that Wharton is for mischief,
and--as you say--as like as not there'll be no evidence by now. There
was little enough at the time.

"Still, I'll make doubly sure. My letter to King James can do no harm.
We'll talk of it again, when you are in case to travel."

It passed through Mr. Caryll's mind at the moment that Lady Ostermore
and her son might between them brew such mischief as might seriously
hinder him from travelling, and he was very near the truth. For already
her ladyship was closeted with Rotherby in her boudoir.

The viscount was dressed for travelling, intent upon withdrawing to the
country, for he was well-informed already of the feeling of the
town concerning him, and had no mind to brave the slights and
cold-shoulderings that would await him did he penetrate to any of the
haunts of people of quality and fashion. He stood before his mother now,
a tall, lank figure, his black face very gloomy, his sensual lips
thrust forward in a sullen pout. She, in a gilt arm-chair before her
toilet-table, was telling him the story of what had passed, his father's
fear of ruin and disgrace. He swore between his teeth when he heard that
the danger threatened from the Duke of Wharton.

"And your father's destitution means our destitution--yours and mine;
for his gambling schemes have consumed my portion long since."

He laughed and shrugged. "I marvel I should concern myself," said he.
"What can it avail me to save the rags that are left him of his fortune?
He's sworn I shall never touch a penny that he may die possessed of."

"But there's the entail," she reminded him. "If restitution is demanded,
the Crown will not respect it. 'Twill be another sop to throw the
whining curs that were crippled by the bubble, and who threaten to
disturb the country if they are not appeased. If Wharton carries out
this exposure, we're beggars--utter beggars, that may ask an alms to
quiet hunger."

"'Tis Wharton's present hate of me," said he thoughtfully, and swore.
"The damned puppy! He'd make a sacrifice of me upon the altar of
respectability, just as he made a sacrifice of the South Sea bubblers.
Wh