‘Well, I suppose I am, in most respects.’ And the old man looked down at his green shawl and smoothed it over his knees. ‘The fact is I’ve been comfortable so many years that I suppose I’ve got so used to it I don’t know it.’

‘Yes, that’s the bore of comfort,’ said Lord Warburton. ‘We only know when we’re uncomfortable.’

‘It strikes me we’re rather particular,’ his companion remarked.

‘Oh yes, there’s no doubt we’re particular,’ Lord Warburton murmured. And then the three men remained silent a while; the two younger ones standing looking down at the other, who presently asked for more tea. ‘I should think you would be very unhappy with that shawl,’ Lord Warburton resumed while his companion filled the old man’s cup again.

‘Oh no, he must have the shawl!’ cried the gentleman in the velvet coat. ‘Don’t put such ideas as that into his head.’

‘It belongs to my wife,’ said the old man simply.

‘Oh, if it’s for sentimental reasons—’ And Lord Warburton made a gesture of apology.

‘I suppose I must give it to her when she comes,’ the old man went on.

‘You’ll please to do nothing of the kind. You’ll keep it to cover your poor old legs.’

‘Well, you mustn’t abuse my legs,’ said the old man. ‘I guess they are as good as yours.’

‘Oh, you’re perfectly free to abuse mine,’ his son replied, giving him his tea.

‘Well, we’re two lame ducks; I don’t think there’s much difference.’

‘I’m much obliged to you for calling me a duck. How’s your tea?’

‘Well, it’s rather hot.’

‘That’s intended to be a merit.’

‘Ah, there’s a great deal of merit,’ murmured the old man, kindly. ‘He’s a very good nurse, Lord Warburton.’

‘Isn’t he a bit clumsy?’ asked his lordship.

‘Oh no, he’s not clumsy—considering that he’s an invalid himself. He’s a very good nurse—for a sick- nurse. I call him my sick-nurse because he’s sick himself.’

‘Oh, come, daddy!’ the ugly young man exclaimed.

‘Well, you are; I wish you weren’t. But I suppose you can’t help it.’

‘I might try: that’s an idea,’ said the young man.

‘Were you ever sick, Lord Warburton?’ his father asked.

Lord Warburton considered a moment. ‘Yes, sir, once, in the Persian Gulf.’

‘He’s making light of you, daddy,’ said the other young man. ‘That’s a sort of joke.’

‘Well, there seem to be so many sorts now,’ daddy replied, serenely. ‘You don’t look as if you had been sick, any way, Lord Warburton.’