"Alban," she said quietly, "Captain Forrest will not stay. Will you please see that he does not." She withdrew upon the words and left the two men alone. They listened and heard her mounting the stairs with slow steps. While Forrest was still disposed to treat the matter as a joke, Alban had enough discretion to avoid a scene if it could be avoided. He was quite calm and willing to forget the insult that had been offered to him. "Why not make an end of it, Forrest?" he said presently. "I'll go to the hotel with you--you know perfectly well that you can get a bed there. What's the good of playing the fool?" "I was never more serious in my life, old man. Here I am and here I stay. There's no place like home--eh, what? Why should you do stunts about it? What's it to do with you after all? Suppose you think you're master here. Then give us a whisky-and-soda for luck, my boy." "I shall not give you a whisky-and-soda and I do not consider myself the master here. That has nothing to do with it. You know that Anna wishes you to go, and go you shall. What's to be gained by being obstinate." Forrest looked at him cunningly. "Appears that I intrude," he exclaimed with a sudden flash which declared his real purpose, "little Anna Gessner and the boy out of Whitechapel making a match of it together--eh, what? Don't let's have any rotten nonsense, old man. You're gone on the girl and you don't want me here. Say so and be a man. You've played a low card on me and you want to see the hand out. Isn't it that? Say so and be honest if you can." "It's a lie," retorted Alban, quietly--and then unable to restrain himself he added quickly, "a groom's lie and you know it." Forrest, sobered in a moment by the accusation, sprang up from his chair as though stung by the lash of a whip. "What's that," he cried, "what do you say?" "That you are not the son of Sir John Forrest at all. Your real name is Weston--your father was a jockey and you were born at Royston near Cambridge. That's what I say. Answer it when you like--but not in this house, for you won't have the opportunity. There's the door and that's your road. Now step out before I make you." He pointed to the open door and drew a little nearer to his slim antagonist. Forrest, a smile still upon his face, stood for an instant irresolute--then recovering himself, he threw the glass he held as though it had been a ball, and the missile, striking Alban upon the forehead, cut him as a knife would have done. "You puppy, you gutter-snipe--I'll show you who I am. Wipe that off if you can;" and then almost shouting, he cried, "Here, Anna, come down and see what I've done to your little ewe lamb, come down and comfort him--Anna, do you hear?"