off you, I couldn't resist having a run across. If it is in any way
inconvenient to put me up for the night, say so--"

"My dear fellow!" Dominey interrupted. "There are a score of rooms
ready. All that we need is to light a fire, and an old-fashioned
bed-warmer will do the rest. You remember Mr. Mangan?"

The two men shook hands, and Seaman accepted a little refreshment after
his drive. He lingered behind for a moment after the dressing bell had
rung.

"What time is that fellow going?" he asked.

"Nine o'clock to-morrow morning," Dominey replied.

"Not a word until then," Seaman whispered back. "I must not seem to
be hanging after you too much--I really did not want to come--but the
matter is urgent."

"We can send Mangan to bed early," Dominey suggested.

"I am the early bird myself," was the weary reply. "I was up all last
night. To-morrow morning will do."

Dinner that night was a pleasant and social meal. Mr. Mangan especially
was uplifted. Everything to do with the Domineys for the last fifteen
years had reeked of poverty. He had really had a hard struggle to
make both ends meet. There had been disagreeable interviews with angry
tenants, formal interviews with dissatisfied mortgagees, and remarkably
little profit at the end of the year to set against these disagreeable
episodes. The new situation was almost beatific. The concluding touch,
perhaps, was in Parkins' congratulatory whisper as he set a couple of
decanters upon the table.

"I have found a bin of Cockburn's _fifty-one_, sir," he announced,
including the lawyer in his confidential whisper. "I thought you
might like to try a couple of bottles, as Mr. Mangan seems rather a
connoisseur, sir. The corks appear to be in excellent condition."

"After this," Mr. Mangan sighed, "it will be hard to get back to the
austere life of a Pall Mall club!"

Seaman, very early in the evening, pleaded an extraordinary sleepiness
and retired, leaving his host and Mangan alone over the port. Dominey,
although an attentive host, seemed a little abstracted. Even Mr. Mangan,
who was not an observant man, was conscious that a certain hardness,
almost arrogance of speech and manner, seemed temporarily to have left
his patron.

"I can't tell you, Sir Everard," he said, as he sipped his first
glass of wine, "what a pleasure it is to me to see, as it were, this
recrudescence of an old family. If I might be allowed to say so, there's
only one thing necessary to round th