Piers had a dark complexion, a face of the square, emphatic type, and
an eye of shy vivacity; Daniel, with the long, smooth curves of his
countenance and his chestnut hair was, in the common sense, better
looking, and managed his expression with a skill which concealed the
characteristics visible a few moments ago; he bore himself like a suave
man of the world, whereas his brother still betrayed something of the
boy in tone and gesture, something, too, of the student accustomed to
seclusion. Daniel's accent had nothing at all in keeping with a shabby
coat; that of the younger man was less markedly refined, with much more
of individuality.

"You live in London?" inquired Daniel, reading the other's look as if
affectionately.

"No. Out at Ewell--in Surrey."

"Oh yes, I know Ewell. Reading?"

"Yes for the Civil Service. I've come up to lunch with a man who knows
father--Mr. Jacks."

"John Jacks, the M.P.?"

Piers nodded nervously, and the other regarded him with a smile of new
interest.

"But you're very early. Any other engagements?"

"None," said Piers. It being so fine a morning, he had proposed a long
ramble about London streets before making for his destination in the
West End.

"Then you must come to my club," returned Daniel. "I shall be glad of a
talk with you, very glad, my dear boy. Why, it must be four years since
we saw each other. And, by the bye, you are just of age, I think?"

"Three days ago."

"To be sure. Heard anything from father?--No?--You're looking very
well, Piers--take my arm. I understood you were going into business.
Altered your mind? And how is the dear old man?"

They walked for a quarter of an hour, turning at last into a quiet,
genteel byway westward of Regent Street, and so into a club house of
respectable appearance. Daniel wrote his brother's name, and led up to
the smoking-room, which they found unoccupied.

"You smoke?--I am very glad to hear it. I began far too young, and have
suffered. It's too early to drink--and perhaps you don't do that
either?--Really? Vegetarian also, perhaps?--Why, you are the model son
of your father. And the regime seems to suit you. _Per Bacco_! couldn't
follow it myself: but I, like our fat friend, am little better than one
of the wicked. So you are one-and-twenty. You have entered upon your
inheritance, I presume?"

Piers answered with a look of puzzled inquiry.

"Haven't you heard about it? The little capital due to you."

"Not a wo