On the third evening, her father returned in a most cheerful frame of mind. He had carried through a business deal, he and Steppe. And he had enjoyed the trip, having met a number of French medical men who had entertained him. "They were charming, and the new Pasteur laboratories were most fascinating. We feared you would have had a dull time, Beryl. I hope Ronnie didn't desert you!" "I am afraid he didn't," she said, and the doctor beamed. "You're not too fond of him, I am glad of that for he is rather a rascal. I suppose young men, some young men, are like that--conscienceless." "Did you have a good crossing?" she asked, and turned the conversation into a more pleasant way. "Sault was to have met us at the station but he did not turn up. Perhaps Moropulos is drinking. One never knows when Moropulos will break out. He is afraid of Steppe." "Who isn't?" she asked with a grimace. The doctor scratched his cheek meditatively. "I don't know--I'm not afraid of him. Naturally, I shouldn't like a rough and tumble with him, physically or verbally. Ronnie, of course, is in the most abject terror of him. The only man who isn't--er--reluctant to provoke him, is Sault." He chuckled. "Steppe told me that he had a row with Sault over some girl that Ronnie had been carrying on with--the daughter of the woman Colebrook, my dear. Apparently, Sault went to our friend Jan and told him to put a stop to it, and Steppe was naturally annoyed, and do you know what Sault said?" Her eyes were shining. "He told Steppe that in certain contingencies he would kill him, before his servant could reach him; to his face!" "What did Mr. Steppe think of it?" she found her voice to ask. "Amused--and impressed, too. He says Sault wouldn't tell a lie, wouldn't do a mean thing to save his soul. That is something of a testimonial from a man like Steppe who, I am sorry to say, is inclined to be a little uncharitable." Beryl folded her serviette; she looked to be absorbed in the operation. "He was telling me that Sault was one of the finest mathematicians in the country. And he doesn't read or write! Of course, he writes figures and symbols perfectly. He attends every lecture that he can get to; a remarkable personality." "Very." "I thought you rather liked him?" She started from her reverie. "Who--Ambrose?" "Ambrose!" "That is his name, isn't it?" "But, my dear," smiled the doctor indulgently, "you wouldn't call him by his Christian name! I think he would be rather annoyed to be treated like a servant." "I wasn't thinking of him as a servant." They got up from the table together and she went with him as far as his study door. "What have you been doing with yourself--theatres?" "Yes, and a ball. An all-night affair. I came home at eight." "Humph--bad for you, that sort of thing."