Walter Vane entered the library with an injured air. He looked neater and more fragile than ever, and wonderfully old, considering his years. Derrington looked from him to the fine figure of George, with a queer look in his eyes. "No one would ever take you for relatives," he said.
"Why, they say we are like one another," said Walter. "Mrs. Ward remarked on the likeness when we dined with her. I wondered why we should resemble one another, but it is explained now," and Walter cast a not unkindly look in his cousin's direction.
Derrington snarled. "George is like me, and you take after your father, Walter, who was a shrimp if ever there was one."
George hastened to the rescue of his cousin. "It seems to me that the conversation is getting somewhat personal," he remarked. "Walter, I hope you bear me no grudge for stepping into your shoes."
Walter took the hand in his own limp grasp. "Well, of course it is hard on a fellow," he answered in a rather whining manner, "but you and I got on well together, so I would rather it was you than another fellow. That Train friend of yours, for instance. He's such a cad!"
"But a very good fellow for all that," said Brendon, dryly.
"Oh, people always say that of a fellow who has nothing to recommend him," retorted Walter; "but as you are to be the head of the family I am glad you are not a bounder."
"That's very kind of you," said George, dryly.
"And very silly of Walter," growled the grandfather. "What do you mean, sir, by talking rubbish? Is it likely that any one of my blood would be what you call a bounder?"
"No," said Walter, pacifying the old man. "I only mean----"