"How old is he?"
"Twenty-eight—or somewhere thereabouts."
"What is he doing? Where is he? Why don't we know him?"
"He doesn't approve of me," Lord Arranmore said. "Fact, really! We are scarcely on speaking terms."
"Why not?"
"Says I deserted his mother. So I did! Played the blackguard altogether. Left 'em both to starve, or next door to it!"
Mr. Hennibul fetched out his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead.
"You are serious, Arranmore?"
"Rather! You wouldn't expect me to be frivolous on this hock."
"That young man must be talked to," Mr. Hennibul declared. "He ought to be filling his proper place in the world. It's no use carrying on a grudge against his own father. Let me have a try at him."