He and Berkley looked at each other; then both bowed; and the butler ushered out the younger man.
"Pardon--the latch-key, sir." Berkley took it, examined it, handed it back.
"Return it to Colonel Arran with Mr.Berkley's undying--compliments," he said, and went blindly out into the April night, but his senses were swimming as though he were drunk.
Behind him the door of the house of Arran clanged.
Larraway stood stealthily peering through the side-lights; then tiptoed toward the hallway and entered the dining-room with velvet tread.
"Port or brandy, sir ?" he whispered at Colonel Arran's elbow.
The Colonel shook his head.
"Nothing more.

Take that box to my study." Later, seated at his study table before the open box, he heard Larraway knock; and he quietly laid away the miniature of Berkley's mother which had been lying in his steady palm for hours.
"Well ?" "Pardon.

Mr.Berkley's key, with Mr.Berkley's compliments, sir." And he laid it upon the table by the box.
"Thank you.

That will be all." "Thank _you_, sir.

Good night, sir." "Good night." The Colonel picked up the evening paper and opened it mechanically: "By telegraph!" he read, "War inevitable.