merely to being tightly strapped.  This man had a not quite agreeable face; inasmuch as it was smoothly shaven, and exhibited a peculiar mobility, it might have denoted him an actor; but the actor is wont to twinkle a good-natured mood which did not appear upon this visage.  The contour was good, and spoke intelligence; the eyes must once have been charming.  It was a face which had lost by the advance of years; which had hardened where it was soft, and seemed likely to grow harder yet; for about the lips, as he stood examining these pictures, came a suggestion of the vice in blood which tends to cruelty.  The nostrils began to expand and to tremble a little; the eyes seemed to project themselves; the long throat grew longer.  Presently, he turned a glance upon the young man standing near to him, and in that moment his expression entirely altered.

“Why,” he exclaimed, “Piers!”

The other gave a start of astonishment, and at once smiled recognition.

“Daniel!  I hadn’t looked—­I had no idea——­” They shook hands, with graceful cordiality on the elder man’s part, with a slightly embarrassed goodwill on that of the younger.  Daniel Otway, whose age was about eight-and-thirty, stood in the relation of half-brotherhood to Piers, a relation suggested by no single trait of their visages.  Piers had a dark complexion, a face of the square, emphatic type, and an eye of shy vivacity; Daniel, with the long, smooth curves of his countenance and his chestnut hair was, in the common sense, better looking, and managed his expression with a skill which concealed the characteristics visible a few moments ago; he bore himself like a suave man of the world, whereas his brother still betrayed something of the boy in tone and gesture, something, too, of the student accustomed to seclusion.  Daniel’s accent had nothing at all in keeping with a shabby coat; that of the younger man was less markedly refined, with much more of individuality.

“You live in London?” inquired Daniel, reading the other’s look as if affectionately.

“No.  Out at Ewell—­in Surrey.”

“Oh yes, I know Ewell.  Reading?”

“Yes for the Civil Service.  I’ve come up to lunch with a man who knows father—­Mr. Jacks.”

“John Jacks, the M.P.?”

Piers nodded nervously, and the other regarded him with a smile of new interest.

“But you’re very early.  Any other engagements?”

“None,” said Piers.  It being so fine a morning, he had proposed a long ramble about London streets before making for his destination in the West End.

“Then you must come to my club,” returned Daniel.  “I shall be glad of a talk with you, very glad, my dear boy.  Why, it must be four years since we saw each other.  And, by the bye, you are just of age, I think?”

“Three days ago.”

“To be sure.  Heard anything from father?—­No?—­You’re looking very well, Piers—­take my arm.  I understood you were going into business.  Altered your mind?  And how is the dear old man?”