As he was replacing some of the books he had been using in the shelves, the club began to fill up with men coming in to lunch.  A great many congratulated him; and a certain number who of old had hardly professed to know him greeted him with cordiality.  He found himself caught in a series of short but flattering conversations, in which he bore himself well—­neither over-discreet nor too elate.  “I declare that fellow’s improved,” said one man, who might certainly have counted as Warkworth’s enemy the week before, to his companion at table.  “The government’s been beastly remiss so far.  Hope he’ll pull it off.  Ripping chance, anyway.  Though what they gave it to him for, goodness knows!  There were a dozen fellows, at least, did as well as he in the Mahsud business.  And the Staff-College man had a thousand times more claim.”

Nevertheless, Warkworth felt the general opinion friendly, a little surprised, no doubt, but showing that readiness to believe in the man coming to the front, which belongs much more to the generous than to the calculating side of the English character.  Insensibly his mental and moral stature rose.  He exchanged a few words on his way out with one of the most distinguished members of the club, a man of European reputation, whom he had seen the week before in the Commander-in-Chief’s room at the War Office.  The great man spoke to him with marked friendliness, and Warkworth walked on air as he went his way.  Potentially he felt himself the great man’s equal; the gates of life seemed to be opening before him.

And with the rise of fortune came a rush of magnanimous resolution.  No more shady episodes; no more mean devices; no more gambling, and no more debt. Major Warkworth’s sheet was clean, and it should remain so.  A man of his prospects must run straight.

He felt himself at peace with all the world.  By-the-way, just time to jump into a cab and get to Park Crescent in time for his sister’s luncheon.  His last interview with his brother-in-law had not been agreeable.  But now—­he felt for the check-book in his pocket—­he was in a position to repay at least half the last sum of money which Bella had lent him.  He would go and give it her now, and report news of the mother.  And if the two chicks were there—­why, he had a free hour and he would take them to the Zoo—­he vowed he would!—­give them something pleasant to remember their uncle by.

And a couple of hours later a handsome, soldierly man might have been seen in the lion-house at the Zoo, leading a plump little girl by either hand.  Rose and Katie Mullins enjoyed a golden time, and started a wholly new adoration for the uncle who had so far taken small notice of them, and was associated in their shrewd, childish minds rather with tempests at home than buns abroad.  But this time buns, biscuits, hansom-drives and elephant-rides were showered upon them by an uncle who seemed to make no account of money, while his gracious and captivating airs set their little hearts beating in a common devotion.