"The one I'm thinking of has been worth a quarter of a million since it started, and we have only begun to work it," replied the Consul.
"Bless my soul!" ejaculated his host. "You don't say so! Do you go in much for that sort of thing?"
"Yes, I've quite a number."
"Dear me!" said Sir Peter dreamily, "a quarter of a million." Then waking up he added: "But I'm forgetting the time. My dear Allingford—er—your Christian name escapes me."
"Robert, Sir Peter."
"Thanks. I was going to say, my dear Robert, that you must go upstairs and see mamma."
CHAPTER II
IN WHICH THE CONSUL LOSES A RELATIVE AND GAINS A WIFE
When Robert Allingford entered the smoking-room of his club, one afternoon early in October, he was genuinely glad to find that it had but one occupant, and that he was Harold Scarsdale. The two men had met each other for the first time at a house-party some eighteen months before, and their acquaintance had ripened into true friendship.