Augustus had declared that he intended to dine out.  This he had said in disgust at his brother’s behavior.  No doubt he could get his dinner at ten minutes’ notice.  He had not been expelled from his club.  But he had ordered the dinner on that day with a view to eat it himself, and in effect he carried out his purpose.  The captain got up, thinking to go alone when the dinner was announced, but expressed himself gratified when his brother said that he “had changed his mind.”  “You made yourself such an ass about shutting the door that I resolved to leave you to yourself.  But come along.”  And he accompanied the captain into the other room.

A very pretty little dinner was prepared,—­quite such as one loving friend might give to another, when means are sufficient,—­such a dinner as the heir of Tretton might have given to his younger brother.  The champagne was excellent, and the bottle of Leoville.  Mountjoy partook of all the good things with much gusto, thinking all the while that he ought to have been giving the dinner to his younger brother.  When that conversation had sprung up about going to Brussels or South America, Mountjoy had suggested a loan.  “I’ll pay your fare to Rio, and give you an order on a banker there.”  Mountjoy had replied that that would not at all suit his purpose.  Then Augustus had felt that it would be almost better to send his brother even to Brussels than to keep him concealed in London.  He had been there now for three or four days, and, even in respect of his maintenance, had become a burden.  The pretty little dinners had to be found every day, and were eaten by the captain alone, when left alone, without an attempt at an apology on his part.  Augustus had begun with some intention of exhibiting his mode of life.  He would let his brother know what it was to be the heir of Tretton.  No doubt he did assume all the outward glitter of his position, expecting to fill his brother’s heart with envy.  But Mountjoy had seen and understood it all; and remembering the days, not long removed, when he had been the heir, he bethought himself that he had never shown off before his brother.  And he was determined to express no gratitude or thankfulness.  He would go on eating the little dinners exactly as though they had been furnished by himself.  It certainly was dull.  There was no occupation for him, and in the matter of pocket-money he was lamentably ill-supplied.  But he was gradually becoming used to face the streets again and had already entered the shops of one or two of his old tradesmen.  He had quite a confidential conversation with his boot-maker, and had ordered three or four new pairs of boots.