Arthur Agar?"
While he spoke he looked past Arthur, out of the silken-draped window. He
did not seem to like the glance of this young man, for even the most
practical of us have a conscience at times.
"Yes."
The new-comer laid his walking-stick on the table, and turned to make
sure that the door was closed.
"I knew your step-brother," he explained, "Jem Agar, in India."
Then the instinct of the gentleman and the host asserted itself over and
above the throbbing hatred.
"Ah! Will you sit down?"
The stranger took the proffered chair and laid aside his hat. But neither
of them was at ease. There was a subtle suggestion that they had met
before and quarrelled--vague, unreasoning, quite impossible if you will;
but it was there. They were as men meeting again with a past between them
(too full of strong passions ever to be forgotten) which each was trying
in vain to ignore.
"I have brought home a few belongings of his," the stranger went on to
explain. "Just a port-manteau with some clothes and things.
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