With Edged Tools | Page 7

for myself."
Sir John moved away.
"You might," he admitted, looking back. "I should be very glad to see
you doing so. It is an excellent thing--money."
And he walked leisurely away.


CHAPTER III.
A FAREWELL

Since called The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown.
Having been taught to take all the chances and changes of life with a
well-bred calmness of demeanour, Jack Meredith turned the teaching

against the instructor. He pursued the course of his social duties
without appearing to devote so much as a thought to the quarrel which
had taken place in the conservatory. His smile was as ready as ever, his
sight as keen where an elderly lady looked hungry, his laughter as near
the surface as society demands. It is probable that Sir John suffered
more, though he betrayed nothing. Youth has the upper hand in these
cases, for life is a larger thing when we are young. As we get on in
years, our eggs, to use a homely simile, have a way of accumulating
into one basket.
At eleven o'clock the next morning Sir John Meredith's valet intimated
to his master that Mr. Meredith was waiting in the breakfast-room. Sir
John was in the midst of his toilet--a complicated affair, which, like
other works of art, would not bear contemplation when incomplete.
"Tell him," said the uncompromising old gentleman, "that I will come
down when I am ready."
He made a more careful toilet than usual, and finally came down in a
gay tweed suit, of which the general effect was distinctly heightened by
a pair of white gaiters. He was upright, trim, and perfectly determined.
Jack noted that his clothes looked a little emptier than usual--that was
all.
"Well," said the father, "I suppose we both made fools of ourselves last
night."
"I have not yet seen you do that," replied the son, laying aside the
morning paper which he had been reading.
Sir John smiled grimly. He hoped that Jack was right.
"Well," he added, "let us call it a difference of opinion."
"Yes."
Something in the monosyllable made the old gentleman's lips twitch
nervously.

"I may mention," he said, with a dangerous suavity, "that I still hold to
my opinion."
Jack Meredith rose, without haste. This, like the interview of the
previous night, was conducted upon strictly high-bred and gentlemanly
lines.
"And I to mine," he said. "That is why I took the liberty of calling at
this early hour. I thought that perhaps we might effect some sort of a
compromise."
"It is very good of you to make the proposal." Sir John kept his fingers
away from his lips by an obvious exercise of self-control. "I am not
partial to compromises: they savour of commerce."
Jack gave a queer, curt nod, and moved towards the door. Sir John
extended his unsteady hand and rang the bell.
"Good-morning," he said.
"Graves," he added, to the servant who stood in the doorway, "when
you have closed the door behind Mr. Meredith, bring up breakfast, if
you please."
On the doorstep Jack Meredith looked at his watch. He had an
appointment with Millicent Chyne at half-past eleven--an hour when
Lady Cantourne might reasonably be expected to be absent at the
weekly meeting of a society which, under the guise and nomenclature
of friendship, busied itself in making servant girls discontented with
their situations.
It was only eleven o'clock. Jack turned to the left, out of the quiet but
fashionable street, and a few steps took him to Piccadilly. He went into
the first jeweller's shop he saw, and bought a plain diamond ring. Then
he walked on to keep his appointment with his affianced wife.
Miss Millicent Chyne was waiting for him with that mixture of
maidenly feelings of which the discreet novelist only details a selection.

It is not customary to dwell upon thoughts of vague regret at the
approaching withdrawal of a universal admiration--at the future
necessity for discreet and humdrum behaviour quite devoid of the
excitement that lurks in a double meaning. Let it, therefore, be ours to
note the outward signs of a very natural emotion. Miss Chyne noted
them herself with care, and not without a few deft touches to hair and
dress. When Jack Meredith entered the room she was standing near the
window, holding back the curtain with one hand and watching, half
shyly, for his advent.
What struck her at once was his gravity; and he must have seen the
droop in her eyes, for he immediately assumed the pleasant, half-
reckless smile which the world of London society had learnt to
associate with his name.
He played the lover rather well, with that finish and absence of
self-consciousness which only comes from sincerity; and when Miss
Chyne found opportunity to look