Jack had interrupted him to say that the Morland print was one that he had brought from his father’s home, and that the books had come from the same source, but Peter kept on in his tour around the room.  Suddenly he stopped and looked steadily at a portrait over the mantel.

“Yes—­your father—­”

“You knew!” cried Jack.

“Knew!  How could any one make a mistake?  Fine head.  About fifty I should say.  No question about his firmness or his kindness.  Yes—­ fine head—­and a gentleman, that is best of all.  When you come to marry always hunt up the grandfather—­saves such a lot of trouble in after life,” and one of Peter’s infectious laughs filled the room.

“Do you think he looks anything like Uncle Arthur?  You have seen him, I think you said.”

Peter scanned the portrait.  “Not a trace.  That may also be a question of grandfathers—­” and another laugh rippled out.  “But just be thankful you bear his name.  It isn’t always necessary to have a long line of gentlemen behind you, and if you haven’t any, or can’t trace them, a man, if he has pluck and grit, can get along without them; but it’s very comforting to know they once existed.  Now let me sit down and listen to you,” added Peter, whose random talk had been inspired by the look of boyish embarrassment on Jack’s face.  He had purposely struck many notes in order to see which one would echo in the lad’s heart, so that his host might find himself, just as he had done when Jack with generous impulse had sprang from his chair to carry Minott the ring.

The two seated themselves—­Peter in the easy chair and Jack opposite.  The boy’s eyes roamed from the portrait, with its round, grave face, to Peter’s head resting on the cushioned back, illumined by the light of the lamp, throwing into relief the clear-cut lips, little gray side-whiskers and the tightly drawn skin covering his scalp, smooth as polished ivory.

“Am I like him?” asked Peter.  He had caught the boy’s glances and had read his thoughts.

“No—­and yes.  I can’t see it in the portrait, but I do in the way you move your hands and in the way you bow.  I keep thinking of him when I am with you.  It may, as you say, be a good thing to have a gentleman for a father, sir, but it is a dreadful thing, all the same, to lose him just as you need him most.  I wouldn’t hate so many of the things about me if I had him to go to now and then.”

“Tell me about him and your early life,” cried Peter, crossing one leg over the other.  He knew the key had been struck; the boy might now play on as he chose.

“There is very little to tell.  I lived in the old home with an aunt after my father’s death.  And went to school and then to college at Hagerstown—­quite a small college—­where uncle looked after me—­he paid the expenses really—­and then I was clerk in a law office for a while, and at my aunt’s death about a year ago the old place was sold and I had no home, and Uncle Arthur sent for me to come here.”