"Ah!" said Stanley suddenly. "D'you remember him at Father's
funeral?--without his hat, and his head in the clouds. Fine-lookin'
chap, old Tod--pity he's such a child of Nature."

Felix said quietly:

"If you'd offered him a partnership, Stanley--it would have been the
making of him."

"Tod in the plough works? My hat!"

Felix smiled. At sight of that smile, Stanley grew red, and John
refilled his pipe. It is always the devil to have a brother more
sarcastic than oneself!

"How old are those two?" John said abruptly.

"Sheila's twenty, Derek nineteen."

"I thought the boy was at an agricultural college?"

"Finished."

"What's he like?"

"A black-haired, fiery fellow, not a bit like Tod."

John muttered: "That's her Celtic blood. Her father, old Colonel Moray,
was just that sort; by George, he was a regular black Highlander. What's