"By the way," said the doctor, anxious to switch to another subject, "that isn't an original idea of Ronnie's--the Mother College, or whatever he calls it. Poor Ambrose Sault had exactly the same dream. I never heard the details from him, but he has mentioned it. Funny that Ronnie is taking it up?" "Yes," Sir John waved his hand and went into the building. He rang for his clerk. "Do you remember a young lady coming to see me a few days ago? A Miss Colebrook--have we any record of her address?" "No, Sir John." "H'm--put me through to Dr. Merville's house in Park Place--I want to speak to Miss Merville." A minute later: "Yes--John Maxton speaking, is that you, Beryl? I want to know Miss Colebrook's address--thank you," he scribbled on his blotting pad. "Thank you--no, my dear, only I may have to get in touch with her." He remembered after he had hung up the telephone, that Ambrose Sault had propounded a will in which the address had appeared, but the will was in the hands of Sir John's own lawyers. Ambrose had left very little, so little that it was hardly worth while taking probate. But the recollection of the will gave him the excuse he wanted. "Sir John rang me up, father, he asked for Christina's address. Do you know why?" "No, dear. I wonder he didn't ask me. I have been lunching with him--and Ronnie. Rather, Ronnie joined us after lunch was through--he was loquacious and strange. H'm--" "How strange?" "Beryl, did you notice the other night--I agree with you, Steppe was brutal--how deep his voice had grown? Boys' voices change that way when they reach an age, but Ronnie isn't a boy. Changed--and his views on affairs. He held John spellbound whilst he delivered himself volubly on illegitimate children and the future of the race. And the curious thing is that Ronnie hates children. Loathes them; he makes no secret of that. Says that they are irresponsible animals that should be kept on the leash." "He said that today?" "No--oh, a long time ago. Now he wants a big institution where they can be trained--maybe it is a variation of his leash and cage theory. How did you get on?" Steppe had been to lunch and was in the hall about to take his departure when Sir John rang. "He came," she said indifferently, "it was a--pleasant lunch. I think he enjoyed it. I had mealies for him and he wrestled with them happily." "Did you discuss anything?" "The happy day?" she said ironically. "Yes, next Tuesday. Quietly. We go to Paris the same night. He wants the honeymoon to be spent in the Bavarian Alps, and he is sending his car on to Paris. I think that is all the news." Her indifference bothered him. "Steppe, I am sure, is a man who improves on acquaintance," he said encouragingly. "I am sure he does," she agreed politely, "will you tell Ronnie, or shall I write to him?"