He stared at the telegram; his face growing pale, his teeth closing hard on the cigarette.
"What is it, Percy ?" asked Miriam, as Celia passed into the library.
"Eh ?" he said, with a start, as if waking up.

"Oh, nothing! Yes, it is; it's dam bad news, I can tell you." "Money again!" she said, with an impatient shrug of her shoulders.
"Yes, money; and a lot of it," he retorted.

"Look here, Miriam, I'm in a hole, and a precious deep one this time.

Hush! Here's the old man!" He broke off warningly, as the Marquess came into the hall.
He looked weary and careworn, and his shoulders drooped in the way that had become habitual with him of late; and he frowned slightly as he glanced at the cigarette between his son's lips; for he disliked its penetrating aroma as much as did Celia.

Dinner was announced and they went in; they talked in the desultory fashion which was customary with them, and the Marquess, apparently lost in thought, did not notice Heyton's pallor and the furtive glance which every now and then he directed towards his father.