ne of Lord Polperro's ancestors--a
youngish man (the Trefoyle nose, not to be mistaken) in a strange wild
costume, his head bare under a sky blackening to storm, in his hand a
sort of hunting knife, and one of his feet resting on a dead wolf. When
his host reappeared Gammon asked him whom the picture represented.

"That? That's my father--years before I was born. They tell me that he
used to say that in his life he had only done one thing to be proud of.
It was in some part of Russia. He killed a wolf at close quarters--only
a knife to fight with. He was a fine man, my father. Looks it, don't
you think?"

Thirst was upon him again; he drank the first liquor that came to hand,
then sat down and was silent.

"You feel better?" said Gammon.

"Better? Oh, thanks, much the same. I shan't be better till things are
settled. That won't be long. I expected to hear from Greenacre--I think
you said you knew Greenacre?"

"What is he doing for you?" Gammon inquired, thinking he might as well
take advantage of this lucid moment, the result, seemingly, of
alcoholic stimulation.

"Doing? We'll talk of that presently. Mind you, I have complete
confidence in Greenacre. I regret that I didn't know him long ago." He
sighed and began to wander. "My best years gone--gone! You remember
what I was, Gammon? We don't live like other people, something wrong in
our blood; we go down--down. But if I had lived as I was, and let the
cursed title alone! That was my mistake, Greenacre. I had found
happiness--a good wife. You know my wife? What am I saying? Of course
you do. Never an unkind word from her, never one. How many men can say
that? The best woman living, Greenacre."

"You keep forgetting who I am," said his guest bluntly.

Lord Polperro gave him a look of surprise, and with effort cleared his
thoughts.

"Ah, I called you Greenacre. Excuse me, Gammon, my wife's friend. Be
her friend still, a better woman doesn't live, believe me. You will
lunch with me, Gammon. We are to have a long talk. And I want you to go
with me to my solicitor's. I must settle that to-day. I thought
Greenacre would be back. The fact is, you know, I must recover my
health. The south of Europe, Greenacre thinks, and I agree with him. A
place where we can live quietly, my wife and the little girl, no one to
bother us or to gossip. She shall know when we get there, not before.
This climate is bad for me, killing me; in fact, I hope to start in a
few days, just us