A few hours later as he was borne rapidly in the direction of Devonshire with his friend, Robert Despard, he had temporarily forgotten Ruby Strode. When the train on the branch line from Newton Abbott stopped at Moreton he saw his sister waiting for him on the platform. A wave of boyish pride swept over him as he introduced Marjorie to Robert Despard. Two years had changed her considerably. She was a woman now, and beautiful. At the same time he was conscious of the humble dress she wore, the thick cotton stockings, and rather ungainly boots. Conscience pricked him again, and he felt a touch of remorse. The money she should have spent in pretty clothes he had been wasting in London! He felt he wanted to apologise, too, for the old-fashioned dog-cart waiting outside and the sturdy, rough-haired Dartmoor pony harnessed to the shafts. But Despard had no eyes for anything but Marjorie Dale’s beauty. He was unable to take his eyes off her, and Rupert noticed the colour rushing to her cheeks as they drove along. Despard had a certain way with women. He treated them with a queer mixture of deference and gallantry. He knew how to pay a compliment with subtlety. For the first time Rupert realised there were two distinct sides to his character. And before the long drive across the moorland was over—still blazing with yellow gorse and bloom—he again wished he had not asked Despard to stay with them. Old John Allen Dale was waiting at the door of the queer, tumble-down, thatched-roofed building which had been the home of the Dales for generations. He took Rupert in his arms and held him closely, then, with an apology, turned to greet Robert Despard. His manner had all the old-world courtesy of the yeoman farmer. "By Jove, you live off the map, and no mistake!" Despard cried looking round him. He gazed at the strange, almost forbidding-looking farmhouse, at the great tors surrounding it on all sides. He listened to the river Dart as it sang its wild way to the sea, the only song among those rugged hills. "Don’t you feel jolly lonely sometimes?" he said to Marjorie. She shook her head. "I haven’t time. And I’ve known nothing better." She took his kit-bag from the dog-cart, and before he could stop her she had carried it upstairs to his room. "There is nothing better," John Dale said dreamily. And he linked his arm affectionately through Rupert’s. "Well, my boy, you needn’t say anything, I see by your face that you’ve passed your examination. The world is at your feet now to conquer. You’re going to do great things, eh?" Rupert gave a quick glance at Despard. But the latter merely winked, then, turning on his heel, entered the farm. Rupert heard him mount the stairs in search of Marjorie. Rupert squared his shoulders and looked his father full in the face. "I’m sorry, guv’nor, but you must have the truth. I’ve failed again."