Selina’s languishing glance was intercepted by one of her admirers from the barracks, as she had intended it to be.  Brooks went off to play his shot and returned smiling.

“I am only too happy that you should feel so,” he declared.  “Your father was very kind to me.”

“Isn’t it almost a pity that you didn’t stay in Medchester, Mr. Brooks?” Selina remarked, with a faint note of patronage in her tone.  “Papa is so much more influential now, you know, and he was always so fond of you.”

“It is rather a pity,” Brooks remarked, with twinkling eyes.  “One can’t foresee these things, you know.”

Selina felt it time to bestow her attention elsewhere, and the game soon came to an end.  The girls glanced at the clock and reluctantly withdrew.

“Remember, Miss Bullsom, that we are relying upon you to-morrow,” the younger of the two officers remarked, as he opened the door.  “Two o’clock sharp—­but you lunch with Mrs. Malevey first, don’t you?”

“We shan’t forget,” Selina assured him, graciously.  “Good-night.”

The two young men left soon afterwards.  Mr. Bullsom mixed himself a whisky-and-soda, and stood for a few minutes on the hearthrug before retiring.

“You’re not up to the mark, Brooks, my boy,” he said, kindly.

Brooks shrugged his shoulders.  “I am about as usual,” he answered.

Mr. Bullsom set down his glass.

“Look here, Brooks,” he said, “you’ve given me many a useful piece of advice, even when you used to charge me six and eightpence for it.  I’m going to turn the tables.  One doesn’t need to look at you twice to see that things aren’t going altogether as they should do with you.  See here!  Are you sure that you’re not cutting off your nose to spite your face, eh?”

“Perhaps I am,” Brooks answered.  “But it is too late to draw back now.”

“It is never too late,” Mr. Bullsom declared, vigorously.  “I’ve no fancy for weathercocks, but I haven’t a ha’porth of respect for a man who ain’t smart enough to own up when he’s made a mistake, and who isn’t willing to start again on a fresh page.  You take my advice, Brooks.  Be reconciled with your father, and let ’em all know who you are.  I’ve seen a bit of Lord Arranmore, and I’ll stake my last shilling that he’s not a bad ’un at heart.  You make it up with him, Brooks.  Come, that’s a straight tip, and it’s a good one.”

Brooks threw away his cigarette and held out his hand.

“It is very good advice, Mr. Bullsom,” he said, “under any ordinary circumstances.  I wish I could take it.  Good-night.”

Mr. Bullsom grasped his hand.

“You’re not offended, my boy?” he asked, anxiously.

“Not I,” Brooks answered, heartily.  “I’m not such an idiot.”

“I don’t want to take any liberties,” Bullsom said, “and I’m afraid I forget sometimes who you are, but that’s your fault, seeing that you will call yourself only Mr. Kingston Brooks when you’re by rights a lord.  But if you were the Prince of Wales I’d still say that my advice was good.  Forgive your father anything you’ve got against him, and start afresh.”