“To make yourself obnoxious—­thoroughly obnoxious,” Mr. Hennibul murmured, “is the sure road to advancement.”

“That’s right, give me a few tips,” Lord Arranmore begged, sipping his wine.

“My dear fellow, I don’t know what you’re going in for yet.”

“Neither do I. What about the stage?  I used to be rather good at private theatricals.  Elderly Wyndhamy parts, you know.”

Mr. Hennibul shook his head.

“Twenty years too late,” he declared.  “Even the suburbs turn up their noses at a lord now.”

“I must do something,” Arranmore declared, meditatively.

“Don’t see the necessity,” Hennibul remarked.

Lord Arranmore lifted his glass and looked thoughtfully at the wine for a moment.

“Ah, well,” he said, “you were born lazy, and I was born restless.  That is the reason you have done something, and I haven’t.”

“If you want my advice—­my serious advice,” the K. C. said, quietly, “you will make yourself a nuisance to that right woman, whoever she is, until she marries you—­if only to get rid of you.”

“All sorts of things in the way,” Lord Arranmore declared.  “You see, I was married abroad.”

Mr. Hennibul looked up quickly.

“Nonsense!”

“Quite true, I assure you.”

“Is she alive?”

“No—­but her son is.

“Great Heavens.  Why, he’s Lord Kingston?”

“Of course he is.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-eight—­or somewhere thereabouts.”

“What is he doing?  Where is he?  Why don’t we know him?”

“He doesn’t approve of me,” Lord Arranmore said.  “Fact, really!  We are scarcely on speaking terms.”

“Why not?”

“Says I deserted his mother.  So I did!  Played the blackguard altogether.  Left ’em both to starve, or next door to it!”

Mr. Hennibul fetched out his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead.

“You are serious, Arranmore?”

“Rather!  You wouldn’t expect me to be frivolous on this hock.”

“That young man must be talked to,” Mr. Hennibul declared.  “He ought to be filling his proper place in the world.  It’s no use carrying on a grudge against his own father.  Let me have a try at him.”

“No!” Lord Arranmore said, quietly.  “I am obliged to you, Hennibul, but the matter is one which does not admit of outside interference, however kindly.  Besides, the boy is right.  I wilfully deserted both him and his mother, and she died during my absence.  My life, whilst away from them, was the sort one forgets—­or tries to—­and he knows about it.  Further, when I returned to England I was two years before I took the trouble to go and see him.  I merely alluded to these domestic matters that you might not wholly misjudge the situation.”

Mr. Hennibul went on with his supper in silence.  Lord Arranmore. whose appetite had soon failed him, leaned back in his chair and watched the people in the further room.