“Why? What is it? Anything up?” “Yes; something pretty badly up. You can’t come to-night, Mabel.” “Don’t squeeze so hard! Why not?” “Oh! well--there--there’s a reason.” “I know. Your father’s come out!” “What? How----?” “But of course. We all know about him. We must be awfully nice to him.” “D’you mean to say that Roddy and everybody---- We thought nobody knew.” “Bless you, yes! Some people feel one way and some the other. I feel the other.” “Do you know what he did?” “Yes; I got hold of the paper. I read the whole trial.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Why didn’t _you_?” “It was too beastly. Well?” “I think it was a shame.” “But you can’t have that sort of thing allowed.” “Why not?” “Where would the population be?” “Well, we’re over-populated. Everybody says so.” “That’s quite another thing. This is the Law.” “Look here! If you want to argue, come in. It’s jolly cold.” “I don’t want to argue; I must go and tell Roddy. It’s an awful relief about you, darling. Only--you don’t know my father.” “Then I can’t come?” “Not to-night. Mother----” “Yes; I expect she’s frightfully glad.” “Oh! yes--yes! She--yes!” “Well, good-night. And look here--you go back. _I’ll_ tell Roddy. No! Don’t rumple me!” Running back between small houses, the boy thought: ‘Good God! How queer! How upside-down! She--she----! It’s awfully modern!’ 3 § Late--299 sat in the firelight, a glass beside him, a cigarette between his smiling lips. The cinders clicked, a clock struck. Eleven! He pitched the stump of his cigarette into the ashes, stretched himself, and rose. He went upstairs and opened the first door. The room was dark. A faint voice said: “Philip?” “Yes.” The light sprang out under his thumb. His wife was sitting up in bed, her face pale, her lips moving: “To-night--must you?” Late--299 moved to the foot of the bed; his lips still smiled, his eyes gazed hungrily. “Not at all. We learn to contain ourselves in prison. No vile contacts? Quite so. Good-night!” The voice from the bed said faintly: “Philip, I’m so sorry; it’s the suddenness--I’m----” “Don’t mention it.” The light failed under his thumb. The door fell to.... Three people lay awake, one sleeping. The three who lay awake were thinking: ‘If only he made one feel sorry for him! If only one could love him! His self-control is forbidding--it’s not human! He ought to want our sympathy. He ought to sympathise with us. He doesn’t seem to feel--for himself, for us, for anything. And to-morrow--what will happen? Is life possible here, now? Can we stand him in the house, about the place? He’s frightening!’ The sleeper, in his first bed of one thousand and one nights, lay, his eyes pinched up between brows and bony cheeks of a face as if carved from ivory, and his lips still smiling at the softness under him.