genuine feeling.
"Will you provide me with it? If you don't, what remains for me but to
drink British brandy and smoke strong shag? I must drink something--I
must smoke something. Will you pay the piper if I go to more expense?"

"Not if you talk so loudly as to attract the attention of every passing
policeman," said Oliver, dryly. "If you want to talk to me, as you say
you do, keep quiet please."

Francis Trent growled something like an imprecation on his brother below
his breath, and then went on in a lowered tone.

"It's easy for you to talk. You are not saddled by a wife and a lot of
debts. _You_ haven't to keep out of the way for fear you should be
wanted by the police--although you have not been very particular about
keeping your hands clean after all. But you've been the lucky dog and I
the unlucky one, and this is the result."

"If you are going to be abusive, my good friend," said Oliver, calmly,
"I shall turn round and go home again. If you will keep a civil tongue
in your head I don't mind listening to you for five minutes. What have
you got to say?"

The man was evidently in a state of only half-repressed irritation. His
brows twitched, he gnawed savagely at his beard, he looked at Oliver
with furtive hate from under his heavy dark brows. But the younger man's
cool tones seemed to possess the power of keeping him in check. He made
a visible effort to calm himself as he replied,

"You needn't be so down on me, Oliver. You must allow for a fellow's
feeling a little out of sorts when he's kept waiting about here for
hours. I am convinced that Rosalind saw me this afternoon; I'm certain
that you saw me to-night. If I had not caught you now I would have gone
to the front door and hammered at it till one of you came out."

"And you think that you would have advanced your cause thereby?"

"Why, hang it all, Oliver, one would think that I was not your own flesh
and blood! Have you no natural affection left?"

"Not much. Natural affection is a mistake. You need not count on that
with me."

"You always were a cold-blooded, half-hearted sort of a fellow. Not one
to help a friend, or even a brother," said Francis, sullenly.

"Suppose you come to the point," remarked Oliver. "It is getting on to
eleven o'clock. I really can't stand here all night."

"It is nothing to you that I have stood here for hours already."

"No, it is not." There was a touch of sharpness in his tone. "I am in no
mood for sentiment.