“Not so long as I was there. Do you like it?” “Yes.” “I didn’t. Are you studying medicine?” “No. Botany.” “Good. You won’t have to do with human beings.” “I’ve got the promise of a job in the Gardens here at the beginning of next year. And I’m--I’m engaged.” “Excellent. I believe in marrying young.” “Beryl’s engaged too.” “Your mother isn’t, by any chance?” “Father!” “My dear fellow, one expects to have been dropped. Why suppose one’s family superior to other people’s? _Pas si bête!_” Gazing at that smiling face where prison pallor was yielding to the heat, above the neck whose sinews seemed unnaturally sharp and visible, the boy felt a spasm of remorse. “We’ve never had a proper chance to tell you how frightfully sorry we’ve been for you. Only, we don’t understand even now why you did such a thing.” “Should I have done it if I’d thought it would have been spotted? A woman going to the devil; a small risk to oneself--and there we were! Never save anyone, at risk to yourself, Jack. I’m sure you agree.” The boy’s face went very red. How could he ever get out what he had come to say? “I have no intention of putting my tail between my legs. D’you mind taking this cup?” “Will you have another, Father?” “No, thanks. What time do you dine?” “Half-past seven.” “You might lend me a razor. I was shaved this morning with a sort of billhook.” “I’ll get you one.” Away from that smiling stranger in the bath, the boy shook himself. He must and would speak out! When he came back with the shaving gear, his father was lying flat, deeply immersed, with closed eyes. And setting his back against the door, he blurted out: “Nobody knows down here. They think mother’s a widow.” The eyes opened, the smile resumed control. “Do you really believe that?” “I do; I know that Mabel--the girl I’m engaged to--has no suspicion. She’s coming to dinner; so is Roddy Blades--Beryl’s _fiancé_.” “Mabel, and Roddy Blades--glad to know their names. Give me that big towel, there’s a good fellow. I’m going to wash my head.” Handing him the towel, the boy turned. But at the door he stopped. “Father----!” “Quite. These natural relationships are fixed, beyond redemption.” The boy turned and fled. His mother and sister stood waiting at the foot of the stairs. “Well?” “It’s no good. I simply can’t tell him we want him to go.” “No, my dear. I understand.” “Oh! but, Mother----! Jack, you must.” “I can’t; I’m going to put them off.” Seizing his hat, he ran. He ran among small houses in the evening mist, trying to invent. At the corner of the long row of little villas he rang a bell. “Can I see Miss Mabel?” “She’s dressing, sir. Will you come in?” “No. I’ll wait here.” In the small dark porch he tried to rehearse himself. ‘Awfully sorry! Somebody had come--unexpectedly--on business!’ Yes! On what business? “Hallo, Jack!” A vision in the doorway--a fair head, a rosy, round, blue-eyed face above a swansdown collar. “Look here, darling--shut the door.”