ed him to
prefer the privacy of his own house, where he could choose his own
society. The house in Clarges Street was decorated in conformity with
the tastes of its owner. The pictures were pictures of horses, the books
were records of races, or novels purporting to describe sporting life.
Mr. Francis Wade, waiting, on the morning of the 20th April, for the
coming of his nephew, sighed as he thought of the cultured quiet of
North End House.

Mr. Richard appeared in his dressing-gown. Three years of good living
and hard drinking had deprived his figure of its athletic beauty. He
was past forty years of age, and the sudden cessation from severe bodily
toil to which in his active life as a convict and squatter he had been
accustomed, had increased Rex's natural proneness to fat, and instead
of being portly he had become gross. His cheeks were inflamed with the
frequent application of hot and rebellious liquors to his blood. His
hands were swollen, and not so steady as of yore. His whiskers were
streaked with unhealthy grey. His eyes, bright and black as ever, lurked
in a thicket of crow's feet. He had become prematurely bald--a sure
sign of mental or bodily excess. He spoke with assumed heartiness, in a
boisterous tone of affected ease.

"Ha, ha! My dear uncle, sit down. Delighted to see you. Have you
breakfasted?--of course you have. I was up rather late last night. Quite
sure you won't have anything. A glass of wine? No--then sit down and
tell me all the news of Hampstead."

"Thank you, Richard," said the old gentleman, a little stiffly, "but
I want some serious talk with you. What do you intend to do with the
property? This indecision worries me. Either relieve me of my trust, or
be guided by my advice."

"Well, the fact is," said Richard, with a very ugly look on his face,
"the fact is--and you may as well know it at once--I am much pushed for
money."

"Pushed for money!" cried Mr. Wade, in horror. "Why, Purkiss said the
property was worth twenty thousand a year."

"So it might have been--five years ago--but my horse-racing, and
betting, and other amusements, concerning which you need not too
curiously inquire, have reduced its value considerably."

He spoke recklessly and roughly. It was evident that success had but
developed his ruffianism. His "dandyism" was only comparative. The
impulse of poverty and scheming which led him to affect the "gentleman"
having been removed, the natural brutality of his nature