And the harder he studied to pass his examination the more insistently did his brain demand rest, and, failing rest, excitement. Without pausing to think he had fed it, pandered to desires sometimes unnatural, always unhealthy, and generally expensive. The meeting with Ruby Strode had come too late. At first she appeared in the guise of another form of excitement. But slowly, as he realised her worth and his own stupidity, and discovered that he loved her, he put on the brake. But debts had accumulated; though he gave up card parties and wine parties he found that friendship with an actress of the Ingenue Theatre was an expensive luxury. Falling in love made him reckless; and when he knew that it really was love, pride prevented him from telling Ruby the position of his affairs. He left her to find out for herself. There was one advantage in this. It had proved the sincerity of her affection. She had not realised the seriousness of the situation until the fatal day when Rupert took her down to the races, and laughingly told her that his future life and happiness depended on the favourite winning the big race of the day. That it meant her future life and happiness, too, perhaps had not occurred to him. Men are inclined to overlook the women’s point of view in these matters. He did not think, and not until the race was over and he was back in his lodgings in Westminster did he realise the havoc he had wrought on other lives—his father’s, his sister’s, and the life of the woman he loved. Then the miracle happened. He burnt his boats behind him and left London with a light heart, quite certain he would never make a fool of himself again. And now Sir Reginald Crichton made him realise that his folly might pursue him for some little time. Rupert had made the mistake of thinking that by repentance he could wipe out the past. The start was made for Princetown shortly after breakfast—for which meal Rupert put in a late appearance. He was afraid to face his father. At the same time a feeling of resentment had grown in his heart, quite unreasonably he knew. He had hurt the old man, as sometimes he affectionately called him. He had disappointed him. Not one word of blame had escaped John Dale’s lips. As yet he had not questioned Rupert as to the manner of his life in London or asked the reasons which had made him run into debt. But Rupert knew what he felt. It was written on the wrinkled, care-worn face. He had aged in the past twelve hours. Rupert did his best to dismiss Ruby from his thoughts. If his father discovered that he was engaged to be married there would be further complications, and the barrier which had so suddenly risen between them would grow. And there were other reasons why he did not want to think of her; reasons he would not admit to himself, and yet which continually intruded themselves in his brain. Absurd fears; doubts; unwarrantable suspicions.