He turned away angrily and resumed his pacing. Yet in his heart he assented to the tenor of her argument. She might, in her malice, take an extravagant case--a case which, at all events, seemed to him just now cruelly extravagant--but she was right in her main contention. No more than she herself could he turn his back on Godfrey, or cut himself adrift from Hilsey. In last night's desperate hour Bernadette and he, between them, seemed to have cut all the bonds and severed all the ties; his only impulse had been to get away quickly. But it could not be so. Life was not like that--at least not to men who owned the sway of obligations and felt the appeal of loyalty and affection. He could not desert the ship. Barber came out of the house and brought him a note. "From Mr. Beard, sir. Will you kindly send a verbal answer?" He read it, and glanced towards Judith. He was minded to consult her. But, no, he would not consult Judith. He would decide for himself; something in the present position made him put a value on deciding for himself, even though he decided wrongly. "All right, say I will, Barber." He lit a cigarette and, walking back to Judith, sat down again beside her. But he said nothing; he waited for her to ask, if she were curious. She was. "What did Barber want?" "Only a note from Beard--about the match. We shall be one man short anyhow, and two if I don't turn up. So I told Barber to say I would." "Good. Margaret and I will come and watch you. We've not gone into official mourning yet, I imagine." "Hang 'em, they may think what they like! I'm going to play cricket." So he played cricket, though that again would not have seemed possible over-night, and, notwithstanding that his eye might well have been out, he made five-and-twenty runs and brought off a catch of a most comforting order. Hilsey won the match by four wickets, and Judith, Margaret, and he strolled back home together in the cool of the evening, while the setting sun gilded the mellow and peaceful beauties of the old house. The little girl held Judith's hand, and, excited by the incidents of the game, above all by Cousin Arthur's dashing innings--his style was rather vigorous than classic--prattled more freely than her wont. "I wish mummy hadn't had to go away just to-day," she said. "Then she could have seen Cousin Arthur's innings. I wanted to cry when he was caught out."