The Messrs Dawes and Riggs, inordinately pleased over the rehabitation, were barely through delivering themselves of their protestations of undying fealty when the sound of voices came up from the lower hall. Frederic started to leave the room, not caring to face those who had witnessed his unwarranted degradation. Yvonne hurried to his side. “Where are you going?” she cried sharply. “You cannot expect me to stay here----” “But certainly!” she exclaimed. “Listen! I will tell you what to do.” Her voice sank to an imperative whisper. He listened in sheer amazement, his face growing dark with rebellion as she proceeded to unfold her plan for a present victory over his father. “No, no! I can't do that! Never, Yvonne,” he protested. “For my sake, Freddy. Don't forget that you owe something to me. I command you to do as I tell you. It is the only way. Make haste! Open the window, get the breath of air he prescribed, and when they are all here, _apologise for your condition!_” When Dr Hodder and Mrs Gunning entered the room a few minutes later young Brood was standing in the open window, drinking in the cold night air, and she was blithely regaling the blinking old men with an account of her stepson's unhappy efforts to drink all the wine in sight! As she told it, it was a most amusing experiment. James Brood was the last to enter, with Miss Followed. He took in the situation at a glance. Was it relief that sprang into his eyes as he saw the two old men? Frederic came down from the window, somewhat too swiftly for one who is moved by shame and contrition, and faced the group with a well-assumed look of mortification in his pale, twitching face. He spoke in low, repressed tones, but not once did he permit his gaze to encounter that of his father. “I'm awfully sorry to have made a nuisance of myself. It does go to my head, and I--I dare say the heat of the room helped to do the work. I'm all right now, however. The fresh air did me a lot of good. Hope you'll all overlook my foolish attempt to be a devil of a fellow.” He hesitated a moment and then went on, more clearly. “I'm all right now, father. It shall not happen again, I can promise you that.” A close observer might have seen the muscles of his jaw harden as he uttered the final sentence. He intended that his father should take it as a threat, not as an apology. Brood was watching him closely, a puzzled expression in his eyes; gradually it developed into something like admiration. In the clamour of voices that ensued the older man detected the presence of an underlying note of censure for his own behaviour. For the first time in many years he experienced a feeling of shame. Someone was speaking at his elbow. Janey, in her young, enthusiastic voice, shrilled something into his ear that caused him to look at her in utter amazement. It was so astounding that he could not believe he heard aright. He mumbled in a questioning tone, “I beg your pardon,” and she repeated her remark.