He could not think of one. But this gave him little
comfort; and, above a piece of late asparagus his steady eyes sought his
son's. What had he come up to tell him?
The phrase had been ominous; he could not recollect Miltoun's ever
having told him anything. For though a really kind and indulgent father,
he had--like so many men occupied with public and other lives--a little
acquired towards his offspring the look and manner: Is this mine? Of his
four children, Barbara alone he claimed with conviction. He admired her;
and, being a man who savoured life, he was unable to love much except
where he admired. But, the last person in the world to hustle any man
or force a confidence, he waited to hear his son's news, betraying no
uneasiness.
Miltoun seemed in no hurry. He described Courtier's adventure, which
tickled Lord Valleys a good deal.
"Ordeal by red pepper! Shouldn't have thought them equal to that," he
said. "So you've got him at Monkland now. Harbinger still with you?"
"Yes. I don't think Harbinger has much stamina.
"Politically?"
Miltoun nodded.
"I rather resent his being on our side--I don't think he does us any
good. You've seen that cartoon, I suppose; it cuts pretty deep. I
couldn't recognize you amongst the old women, sir."
Lord Valleys smiled impersonally.
"Very clever thing. By the way; I shall win the Eclipse, I think.
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