“Of course,” put in Arthur, gaily; “of course we are all friends, and you must make friends with Randolph, too. He is such a good fellow.”
“I have no objection at all,” answered Conrad, with a short laugh. “The difficulty, I imagine, will be on his side. Some men never forget or forgive any one who succeeds in finding them out.”
“Oh, we will manage Randolph, never fear. You are ready, then, to make it up if he is?”
“Most certainly,” was the ready answer.
“He is the nobler man of the two,” said Monica to herself—at least her reason and judgment said so; her instinct, oddly enough, spoke in exactly opposite words; but surely it was right to listen first to the voice of reason.
“I say, Randolph,” said Arthur, half an hour later, when the young baronet had taken his departure and the other guest had returned to the invalid’s room. “Conrad is quite willing to make it up with you.”
Randolph’s smile was a little peculiar.
“Sir Conrad Fitzgerald is very kind.”
“Well, you know, it’s always best to make friends, isn’t it? Deadly feuds are a nuisance in these days, don’t you think so?”