hief, usually quite inaccessible to the casual
visitor--whether relative or stranger--received his brother-in-law
immediately.

"Hello, Will," he said by way of greeting, the way Englishmen have of
saying that they are pleased to see one another.

"Hello," responded Colonel Harris in the same eloquent tone.

And the two old boys shook hands.

Sir Thomas then resumed his official chair behind his huge desk and
motioned his brother-in-law to an arm-chair close by.

"Have a cigar," said the host.

"Thanks," rejoined the other.

The box was handed across, a Havana selected.

The cigars were lighted, and for quite three minutes the two men
smoked in silence. One of them had come here to find out how much of
his daughter's happiness lay in jeopardy; the other knew what was in
the balance, the danger to his niece's happiness, the terrible abyss
of misery which yawned at her feet.

But both sat there and enjoyed their cigars. They were dressed with
scrupulous care, in the uniform prescribed by the world in which they
lived as being suitable for gentlemen of their position and of their
age; frock coats and dark gray trousers, immaculate collar, and tie
with pearl pin. Both wore a seal ring on the little finger of the left
hand, and a watch chain of early Victorian design. They might be twins
but for their faces. Convention had put a livery on them which they
would on no account have discarded.

But the faces were very different. Colonel Harris carried his sixty
years as easily as if they had been forty. There were not many lines
on his round, chubby face, with its red cheeks, and round, child-like
eyes. The heavy cavalry moustache, once auburn, now almost white, hid
the expression of the mouth, but one felt, judging by the eyes and the
smooth forehead, which continued very far now onto the back of his
head, that if one were allowed a peep below that walrus-like face
adornment one would see a mouth that was kind and none too firm, the
mouth of a man who had led other men perhaps but who had invariably
been led by his women folk.

Now Sir Thomas Ryder was--or rather is, for he is still in perfect
health and full vigour--a very different type of man. You have no
doubt seen him about town--for he takes a constitutional in the park
every day on his way to his work, and he goes to most first nights at
the theatres--and if so you will have admired the keen, sharp face,
the closely set eyes, the mobile mouth free from mous