Excerpt: ""You’re a lucky chap, Croxton, to have got the measure of the old man so well. I don’t suppose it will be long before you blossom into a partner." The speaker, Archie Brookes, a slim elegant young fellow, very good-looking but with a somewhat effeminate expression, cast a sidelong glance at his companion as he uttered the remark, to observe covertly what impression it made upon him. There was no love lost between these two young men, although they were thrown constantly into each other’s society. Richard Croxton was the confidential secretary of Rupert Morrice, the well-known foreign banker and financier, whose firm had colossal dealings abroad. Brookes was a nephew and great favourite of the financier’s wife, the son of a dearly beloved sister who had died many years ago. In consequence of that relationship, and the partiality of his aunt, he was a frequent, almost a daily, visitor to the big house in Deanery Street, Park Lane, where the Morrices entertained largely and dispensed lavish hospitality. Croxton’s voice was very cold, as he replied to the other’s suggestion. "Those are the sort of things one does not permit oneself to speculate about, much less to discuss. "For a second an angry gleam showed in the light blue eyes of Brookes. Not troubled with very refined feelings himself, he thought it was rank hypocrisy on the part of Richard to refuse to talk to a man of his own age about prospects upon which he must often have meditated. But the angry gleam passed away quickly. Archie Brookes was a very self-contained young man. He seldom allowed his temper to get the better of him, and he never indulged in sarcastic remarks."
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