ir John Meredith while he was waiting for the
announcement that dinner was ready. The announcement arrived immediately
afterwards, but he did not go down to dinner until he had read the
letter. He fumbled for his newly-purchased eyeglasses, because Lady
Cantourne's handwriting was thin and spidery, as became a lady of
standing; also the gas was so d----d bad. He used this expression
somewhat freely, and usually put a "Sir" after it as his father had done
before him.

His eyes grew rather fierce as he read; then they suddenly softened,
and he threw back his shoulders as he had done a thousand times on the
threshold of Lady Cantourne's drawing-room. He read the whole letter
very carefully and gravely, as if all that the writer had to say was
worthy of his most respectful attention. Then he folded the paper and
placed it in the breast-pocket of his coat. He looked a little bowed and
strangely old, as he stood for a moment on the hearthrug thinking. It
was his practice to stand thus on the hearthrug from the time that he
entered the drawing-room, dressed, until the announcement of dinner; and
the cook far below in the basement was conscious of the attitude of the
master as the pointer of the clock approached the hour.

Of late Sir John had felt a singular desire to sit down whenever
opportunity should offer; but he had always been found standing on the
hearthrug by the butler, and, hard old aristocrat that he was, he would
not yield to the somewhat angular blandishments of the stiff-backed
chair.

He stood for a few moments with his back to the smouldering fire, and,
being quite alone, he perhaps forgot to stiffen his neck; for his head
drooped, his lips were unsteady. He was a very old man.

A few minutes later, when he strode into the dining-room where butler
and footman awaited him, he was erect, imperturbable, impenetrable.

At dinner it was evident that his keen brain was hard at work. He forgot
one or two of the formalities which were religiously observed at that
solitary table. He hastened over his wine, and then he went to the
library. There he wrote a telegram, slowly, in his firm ornamental
handwriting.

It was addressed to "Gordon, Loango," and the gist of it was--"Wire
whereabouts of Oscard--when he may be expected home."

The footman was despatched in a hansom cab, with instructions to take
the telegram to the head office of the Submarine Telegraph Company, and
there to arrange prepayment of the reply.