"Behaved himself like a thoroughbred, as he is," Dorsey Sullivan, a famous duellist, had remarked in recounting the occurrence to a non-witness.

"And I must say, sir, that Talbot served him a scurvy trick, and I don't care who hears me say it." Furthermore--and this made a great impression--that rather than humiliate himself, the boy had abandoned the comforts of his palatial home at Moorlands and was at the moment occupying a small, second-story back room (all, it is true, Gentleman George could give him), where he was to be found any hour of the day or night that his uncle needed him in attendance upon that prince of good fellows.
One other thing that counted in his favor, and this was conclusive with the Quakers--and the club held not a few--was that no drop of liquor of any kind had passed the boy's lips since the eventful night when St.
George prepared the way for their first reconciliation.
Summed up, then, whatever Harry had been in the past, the verdict at the present speaking was that he was a brave, tender-hearted, truthful fellow who, in the face of every temptation, had kept his word.
Moreover, it was never forgotten that he was Colonel Talbot Rutter's only son and heir, so that no matter what the boy did, or how angry the old autocrat might be, it could only be a question of time before his father must send for him and everything at Moorlands go on as before.
It was on one of these glorious never-to-be-forgotten spring days, then, a week or more after St.George had given up the fight with Kate--a day which Harry remembered all the rest of his life--that he and his uncle left the house to spend the afternoon, as was now their custom, at the Chesapeake.

The two had passed the early hours of the day at the Relay House fishing for gudgeons, the dogs scampering the hills, and having changed their clothes for something cooler, had entered the park by the gate opposite the Temple Mansion, as being nearest to the club; a path Harry loved, for he and Kate had often stepped it together--and then again, it was the shortest cut to her house.
As the beauty and quiet of the place with its mottling of light and shade took possession of him he slackened his pace, lagging a little behind his uncle, and began to look about him, drinking in the loveliness of the season.

The very air breathed tenderness, peace, and comfort.

Certainly his father's heart must be softening toward him; surely his bitterness could not last.