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 found Mr. Mowbray alone. Betty had gone to a party at one of the neighbours. Mr. Mowbray put him next to him on his right, and they talked during the meal. Mowbray asked him questions about his school career and then about his father.

"Funny," he said, "we were turning out some old papers the other day. Came across your grandfather's marriage settlement. I suppose you know that the Strong'nth'arms were quite important folk a hundred years ago."

Anthony had heard about them chiefly from his mother. His father had had no use for them.

Mr. Mowbray was sipping his port.

"My grandfather was a tailor in Sheffield," he volunteered. He could afford to remember his grandfather. His father had entertained George IV, and his mother had been a personal friend of Queen Caroline. He himself might have been an aristocrat of the first water if manners and appearances stood for lineage.

"I shouldn't have suspected it, sir," said Anthony. He was looking at Mr. Mowbray with genuine admiration. Their eyes met and Mr. Mowbray laughed, well pleased.

"Don't you mention that to Betty," he said. "She hates to be reminded of it. I tease her about