as usual,
apparently to go to the office, and it was not till some time later
that she learned from his aunt of his departure for London. Curiously
enough, she seemed rather pleased than otherwise by this move. Her
correspondence with Colonel Munro had left the most unsettling effects.

Meanwhile, Andrew was nearing London. He was pleased to find his train
arrive upon the stroke of 6:15, for he valued punctuality above
everything except his reputation. From the station he drove to the large
political club where he always put up, ate a dinner that exactly
accorded with his station in life, and took a horse bus to the Hotel
Gigantique. (Motor buses were only just beginning to be seen upon the
streets at that time, and he was always suspicious of noisy
innovations.)

By the merest chance, the first person he saw in the hall of the hotel
was Frank, attired in overcoat and opera hat, and evidently bound for
some extravagant expedition, the cost of which would no doubt be
defrayed by his parent to the detriment of his brother's and sisters'
patrimony.

"Well, Frank," said the elder brother, "where's your father?"

The "your" was a subtle indication of the depth to which Mr.
Walkingshaw had fallen in the estimation of the right-minded.

"Out of town," said Frank briefly.

"Where's he gone?"

Frank shook his head.

"You can ask at the office," he suggested.

"Do you mean to say you don't know?"

"I mean to say it's none of my business."

Andrew had begun the conversation in a decidedly hectoring manner. He
now began to alter his key a little.

"Look here, Frank, things are pretty serious. We've got to stop this
tomfoolery."

The other interrupted him.

"What tomfoolery?"

"Making an exhibition of himself all over London, and wasting his money
at a place like this. You know perfectly well what I mean."

"I only know that he's in the best form I've ever seen him in my life.
He's just a devilish kind and sporting guv'nor, that's what he is."

"If you mean going about the most disreputable places in London in a
half-intoxicated condition--"

"That's a lie, anyhow," said Frank calmly, yet with a glint in his eye.

His brother recoiled a pace, but his manner grew none the less
uncompromising.

"I suppose you'll say he's moving in fine high-class society, do you?"

"It's a lot better than anything he ever found in his office."

"Thank you," replied the junior partner; "and now perhaps you'll tell me
when