“Peter,” Mrs. Bullsom gasped, “has it been come by honest?”

Mr. Bullsom smiled in a superior way.

“I made it,” he answered, “by locking up forty thousand, more than half of what I was worth, for five years.  But I knew what I was about, and so did the others.  Mason made nearly as much as I did.”

Selina looked at her father with a new respect.  He rose and brushed the ashes of his cigar from his waistcoat.

“Now I’m off,” he declared.  “Brooks and I will be back about seven, and I shall try and get him to sleep here.  Fix yourselves up quiet and ladylike, you girls.  Good-bye, mother.”

* * * * *

“We have about an hour before dinner,” Mr. Bullsom remarked, sinking into his most comfortable chair and lighting a cigar.  “Just time for a comfortable chat.  You’ll smoke, Brooks, won’t you?”

Brooks excused himself, and remained standing upon the hearthrug, his elbow upon the mantelpiece.  He hated this explanation he had to make.  However, it was no good in beating about the bush.

“I am going to surprise you very much, Mr. Bullsom,” he began.

Mr. Bullsom took the cigar from his mouth and looked up with wide-open eyes.  He had been preparing graciously to wave away a torrent of thanks.

“I am going to surprise you very much,” Brooks repeated.  “I cannot accept this magnificent offer of yours.  I cannot express my gratitude sufficiently to you, or to the committee.  Nothing would have made me happier than to have been able to accept it.  But I am absolutely powerless.”

“You don’t funk it?” Mr. Bullsom asked.

“Not I. The fact is, there are circumstances connected with myself which make it inadvisable for me to seek any public position at present.”

Mr. Bullsom’s first sensations of astonishment were augmented into stupefaction.  He was scarcely capable of speech.  He found himself wondering idly how heinous a crime a man must commit to be branded ineligible.

“To explain this to you,” Brooks continued, “I am bound to tell you something which is only known to two people in the country.  The Marquis of Arranmore is my father.”

Mr. Bullsom dropped his cigar from between his fingers, and it lay for a moment smouldering upon the carpet.  His face was a picture of blank and hopeless astonishment.

“God bless my soul!” he exclaimed, faintly.  “You mean that you—­you, Kingston Brooks, the lawyer, are Lord Arranmore’s son?”

Brooks nodded.

“Yes!  It’s not a pleasant story.  My father deserted my mother when I was a child, and she died in his absence.  A few months ago, Lord Arranmore, in a leisurely sort of way, thought well to find me out, and after treating me as an acquaintance for some time—­a sort of probationary period, I suppose—­he told me the truth.  That is the reason of my resigning from the firm of Morrison and Brooks almost as soon as the partnership deed was signed.  I went to see Mr. Ascough and told him about your offer, and he, of course, explained the position to me.”