k's name, when the chance arose to give the old boy a leg up, and
then had clean forgotten the circumstance. The episode rather increased
his liking for Plowden.

He glanced briefly, under the impulse of his thought, to where the peer
sat, or rather sprawled, in a big low chair before the fire. He was so
nearly recumbent in it, indeed, that there was nothing to be seen of
him but an elbow, and two very trim legs extended to the brass fender.
Thorpe's gaze reverted automatically to the face of General Kervick's
daughter. He wondered if she knew about the Company, and about him,
and about his ability to solidify to any extent her father's financial
position. Even more, upon reflection, he wondered whether she was very
fond of her father; would she be extremely grateful to one who should
render him securely comfortable for life? Miss Madden rose from the
piano before Thorpe noted that the music had ceased. There came from
the others a soft but fervent chorus of exclamations, the sincerity and
enthusiasm of which made him a little ashamed. He had evidently been
deaf to something that deeply moved the rest. Even Balder made remarks
which seemed to be regarded as apposite.

"What IS it?" asked Lady Cressage, with obvious feeling. "I don't know
when anything has touched me so much."

"Old Danish songs that I picked up on the quai in Paris for a franc or
two," replied Miss Madden. "I arranged and harmonized them--and, oddly
enough, the result is rather Keltic, don't you think?"

"We are all of us Kelts in our welcome to music--and musicians--like
this," affirmed Lord Plowden, who had scrambled to his feet.

With sudden resolution, Thorpe moved forward and joined the
conversation.

CHAPTER VI

THORPE'S life-long habit of early rising brought him downstairs next
morning before anybody else in the house, apparently, was astir. At all
events, he saw no one in either the hall or the glass vestibule, as he
wandered about. Both doors were wide open, however, to the mild,
damp morning air. He found on one of the racks a cap that was less
uncomfortable than the others, and sauntered forth to look about him.

His nerves were by no means in so serene a state as his reason told him
they ought to be. The disquieting impression of bad dreams hung about
him. The waking hour--always an evil time for him in these latter days
of anxiety--had been this morning a peculiarly depressing affair. It had
seemed to him, in the first min