And whatever else he may not be, Dick is a man.
It's the best chance she will ever get, so it is probable she won't take it." Lord Newhaven sauntered back down the narrow black oak staircase to his own room on the ground-floor.

He sat down at his writing-table and took out of his pocket a letter which he had evidently read before.

He now read it slowly once more.
"Your last letter to me had been opened," wrote his brother from India, "or else it had not been properly closed.

As you wrote on business, I wish you would be more careful." "I will," said Lord Newhaven, and he wrote a short letter in his small, upright hand, closed the envelope, addressed and stamped it, and sauntered out through the low-arched door into the garden.
Dick was sitting alone on the high-carved stone edge of the round pool where the monks used to wash, and where gold-fish now lived cloistered lives.

A moment of depression seemed to have overtaken that cheerful personage.
"Come as far as the post-office," said Lord Newhaven.
Dick gathered himself together, and rose slowly to his large feet.
"You millionaires are all the same," he said.