The covers having been removed, the cloth, swept away, and decanters set upon the table, the servants left the room, and Lord Lionel settled down to enjoy his port in what he termed comfort, and his nephew thought great discomfort. The fire behind him was beginning to be unpleasantly hot, the ornate carving of his chair made leaning back in it a penance, and he was not fond of port.

Lord Lionel began to talk of some improvements to one of the Duke’s estates, which the agent-in-chief thought might be advantageous. “You should see Scriven yourself, Gilly,” he said. “You know, you must not forget that in less than a year now you will have the management of everything in your own hands. I am very anxious you should acquaint yourself with all the business of your estates.”

“Dear me, yes!” said Mr. Romsey, sipping his wine delicately. “It is very true, though I may scarcely credit it! My dear lord, you will indeed be twenty-five next year! Yet it seems only yesterday that I was so fortunate as to be chosen to be your chief guide and preceptor!”

“I have never had the least doubt that I made a wise  choice,” said his lordship graciously, “but what I am saying is that my nephew must not look to be guided for many months more. You have a thousand amiable qualities, Gilly, but you lack decision of character!”

The Duke did not deny the accusation. He felt it to be true, but he could scarcely repress a shudder at the thought of the painful scenes that must have taken place at Sale had he been endowed with the same forceful personality that distinguished his uncle. His cousin Gideon had it in some measure, and had certainly won his father’s respect with it; but Gideon had always been a robust and pugnacious boy, and was quite untroubled by sensitive nerves.