tomed bottles. He handed one of
these last to Plowden, as the latter strolled toward the table.

"You know how to open these, don't you?" he said, languidly. "Somehow I
never could manage it."

The nobleman submissively took the bottle, and picked with awkwardness
at its wire and cork, and all at once achieved a premature and not
over-successful explosion. He wiped his dripping cuff in silence, when
the tumblers were supplied.

"Well--here's better luck to you next time," Thorpe said, lifting his
glass. The audacious irony of his words filled Plowden with an instant
purpose.

"What on earth did you round on me in that way for, Thorpe--when I was
here last?" He put the question with bravery enough, but at sight of the
other's unresponsive face grew suddenly timorous aud explanatory. "No
man was ever more astounded in the world than I was. To this day I'm as
unable to account for it as a babe unborn. What conceivable thing had I
done to you?"

Thorpe slowly thought of something that had not occurred to him before,
and seized upon it with a certain satisfaction.

"That day that you took me shooting," he said, with the tone of one
finally exposing a long-nursed grievance, "you stayed in bed for hours
after you knew I was up and waiting for you--and when we went out, you
had a servant to carry a chair for you, but I--by God!--I had to stand
up."

"Heavens above!" ejaculated Plowden, in unfeigned amazement.

"These are little things--mere trifles," continued Thorpe, dogmatically,
"but with men of my temper and make-up those are just the things that
aggravate and rankle and hurt. Maybe it's foolish, but that's the kind
of man I am. You ought to have had the intelligence to see that--and not
let these stupid little things happen to annoy me. Why just think what
you did. I was going to do God knows what for you--make your fortune and
everything else,--and you didn't show consideration enough for me to get
out of bed at a decent hour--much less see to it that I had a chair if
you were going to have one."

"Upon my word, I can't tell how ashamed and sorry I am," Lord Plowden
assured him, with fervent contrition in his voice.

"Well, those are the things to guard against," said Thorpe, approaching
a dismissal of the subject. "People who show consideration for me;
people who take pains to do the little pleasant things for me, and see
that I'm not annoyed and worried by trifles--they're the people that
I, on my side, do