It was, therefore, a comparatively youthful party which Brett joined at dinner in one of the great hotels in Northumberland Avenue.

Someone had exercised rare discretion in ordering a special meal; the wines were good, and two at least of the company merry as emancipated school children.

The barrister soon received ample confirmation of the discovery made by the Stowmarket waiter.

Robert Hume-Frazer was undoubtedly in love with his cousin, or, to speak correctly, for the ex-sailor was a gentleman, he had been in love with her as a boy, and now secretly grieved over a hopeless passion.

Whether Margaret was conscious of this devotion or not Brett was unable to decide.  By neither word nor look was Robert indiscreet.  When she was present he was lively and talkative, entertaining the others with snatches of strange memories drawn from an adventurous career.

It was only when she quitted their little circle that Brett detected the mask of angry despair that settled for a moment on the young man’s face, and rendered him indifferent to other influences until he resolutely aroused himself.

Yet, on the whole, a great improvement was visible in Frazer.  Attired in one of David’s evening dress suits, carefully groomed and trimmed, he no sooner donned the garments which gave him the outward semblance of an aristocrat than he dropped the curt, somewhat coarse, mannerisms which hitherto distinguished him from his cousin.

Beyond a more cosmopolitan style of speech, he was singularly like David in person and deportment.  They resembled twins rather than first cousins.  They were both remarkably fine-looking men, tall, wiry, and in splendid condition.  It was only the slightly more attenuated features of Robert that made it possible, even for Brett, to distinguish one from the other at a little distance.

Helen was pleased to be facetious on the point.

“Really, Davie,” she said, “now that your cousin has come amongst us, you must remove your beard at once.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you are so alike that some evening, in these dark corridors, I shall mistake Mr. Frazer for you.”

“That won’t be half bad,” laughed Robert.

Nellie blushed, and endeavoured to evade the consequences of her own remark.

“I meant,” she exclaimed, “that you would be sure to laugh at me if I treated you as Davie.”

“Not at all.  I would consider it a cousinly duty to make you believe I was David, and not myself.”

“Then,” she cried, “I will guard against any possibility of error by treating both of you as Mr. Robert Hume-Frazer until I am quite sure.”

“Waiter!” said David, “where is the barber’s shop?”

Helen became redder than ever, but they enjoyed the joke at her expense.  The waiter politely informed his questioner that the barber would not be on duty until the morning at 8 a.m.