"But, daddy, don't you believe Ronnie?" She was desperately anxious to consolidate her own faith. "I don't know. Ronnie is a queer fellow--" He was ready to go; his overcoat was over his arm and yet he lingered. She guessed he would say something more about Ronald Morelle and was stiffening to defend him, but she was mistaken. "Beryl, you are twenty-two and very beautiful. I may be biased but I hardly think I am. I have seen many lovely women in my life and you could hold your own with any of them. Do you ever think of getting married?" She tried hard to control herself, but the color in her face deepened and faded. "I haven't thought much about it," she said. "There are two parties to a marriage, daddy." "Are you fond of anybody? I mean are you, in your heart--committed to any one man?" A pause, then: "No." "I'm glad," said her father, relieved. "Very glad--you must look for something in a man which fellows like Ronnie Morelle can never give to a woman--power, fortune, mental strength and stability--come along." She followed him to the car dumb with astonishment, but not at that moment apprehensive. She knew that he had been talking of Jan Steppe. VI Mr. Steppe had a house in Berkeley Square which he rented from its lordly owner. Beryl had dined there before, and it had been a baffling experience, for in no respect did the personality of the tenant find an opportunity of expressing itself. The furnishings and the color schemes of the landlord had been left as they had been found, and since the atmosphere of the place was late Victorian, Mr. Steppe was unconformable to his surroundings. Beryl thought of him as a Sultan amidst samplers. Sir John Maxton was talking to him when they were announced. One of the greatest advocates at the bar, Maxton was tall, slender, esthetic. His gentle manner had led many a confident witness into trouble. He had a reputation at the bar as a just and merciless man; a master of the art of cross-examination. "The doctor told me you were likely to be here," he said, when she had escaped from Steppe's thunderous civilities. "I hoped Ronnie would have come--have you seen him lately?" "Only for a few minutes on Monday. I met him in the park. I didn't know you were a friend of his, Sir John?" Maxton's lips curled. Beryl wondered if he was trying to smile, or whether that twitch indicated something uncomplimentary to Ronnie. "I'm more than a friend--and less. I was one of the executors of his father's will. Old Bennett Morelle was my first client and I suppose I stand _in loco parentis_ to Ronnie by virtue of my executorship. I have not seen him for quite a year. Somebody told me that he was scribbling! He always had a bent that way--it is a thousand pities he didn't take the law seriously--an occupation would have kept him out of mischief." "Has Ronnie been called to the bar?" she asked in astonishment. Maxton nodded.