Philip drank in the face upon a swift shot of his eyes.

‘Mr. Adister sends it?’ His tone implied wonder at such a change in Adiante’s father.

‘And an invitation to you to visit him when you please.’

‘That he might do,’ said Philip:  it was a lesser thing than to send her likeness to him.

Patrick could not help dropping his voice:  ‘Isn’t it very like?’ For answer the miniature had to be inspected closely.

Philip was a Spartan for keeping his feelings under.

‘Yes,’ he said, after an interval quick with fiery touches on the history of that face and his life.  ’Older, of course.  They are the features, of course.  The likeness is not bad.  I suppose it resembles her as she is now, or was when it was painted.  You ’re an odd fellow to have asked for it.’

‘I thought you would wish to have it, Philip.’

’You’re a good boy, Patrice.  Light those candles we’ll go to bed.  I want a cool head for such brains as I have, and bumping the pillow all night is not exactly wholesome.  We’ll cross the Channel in a few days, and see the nest, and the mother, and the girls.’

’Not St. George’s Channel.  Mother would rather you would go to France and visit the De Reuils.  She and the girls hope you will keep out of Ireland for a time:  it’s hot.  Judge if they’re anxious, when it’s to stop them from seeing you, Philip!’

‘Good-night, dear boy.’  Philip checked the departing Patrick.  ’You can leave that.’  He made a sign for the miniature to be left on the table.

Patrick laid it there.  His brother had not touched it, and he could have defended himself for having forgotten to leave it, on the plea that it might prevent his brother from having his proper share of sleep; and also, that Philip had no great pleasure in the possession of it.  The two pleas, however, did not make one harmonious apology, and he went straight to the door in an odd silence, with the step of a decorous office-clerk, keeping his shoulders turned on Philip to conceal his look of destitution.

CHAPTER XI

INTRODUCING A NEW CHARACTER

Letters and telegrams and morning journals lay on the breakfast-table, awaiting the members of the household with combustible matter.  Bad news from Ireland came upon ominous news from India.  Philip had ten words of mandate from his commanding officer, and they signified action, uncertain where.  He was the soldier at once, buckled tight and buttoned up over his private sentiments.  Vienna shot a line to Mrs. Adister O’Donnell.  She communicated it:’The Princess Nikolas has a son!’ Captain Con tossed his newspaper to the floor, crying: 

’To-day the city’ll be a chimney on fire, with the blacks in everybody’s faces; but I must go down.  It’s hen and chicks with the director of a City Company.  I must go.’

Did you say, madam?’ Patrick inquired.  ‘A son,’ said Mrs. Adister.