mortification beneath his great moustache.

"Do you think I would accept? I'm damned if I would. Do you expect me to
pick up everything you've thrown in the mud and feel grateful? I'm
damned if I will!"

He flung out of the room on to the terrace and strode away in a rage.

"Seems to take it badly," remarked Banstead, looking at his
disappearing figure. "I had better say good-bye."

"Good-bye," said Austin. And he added, as he accompanied him with grim
politeness to the front gate, "if you exercise the same tact in the
chair as you've done here, your meetings must be a huge success."

He returned with a shrug of the shoulders to his table in the
morning-room. He was deeply attached to Dick, but a lifelong habit of
regarding him as a good-natured, stupid, and contented giant blinded him
to the storm that was beginning to rage in the other's soul. The
occurrence was unfortunate. It wounded the poor old fellow's vanity.
Banstead's blatant folly had been enough to set any man in a rage. But,
after all, Dick was a common-sense creature, and, recognising that
Austin was in no way to blame, he would soon get over it. Meanwhile,
there was awaiting him the joyful surprise of Vancouver, which would
soon put such petty mortifications out of his head. Thus Austin consoled
himself, and settled down to the serious matters of his correspondence.

Viviette, coming in later in hat and jacket, found him busily writing.
He looked up at her admiringly as she stood against the background of
light framed by the great French window.