'I can't do that, father. I can only come to one.' 'She should have been the one; she loved you best, Dick.' 'Oh, I don't know. Do you ever,' with a slight hesitation, 'see Laura now?' 'She is staying with us at present.' 'Is she? I think I should like to see her.' 'If Laura were to see you----' 'Oh, she wouldn't see me. She is not dressed in black, is she?' 'No, in white.' 'Good girl! I suppose mother is in black?' 'Surely, Dick.' 'It's too bad, you know.' 'You weren't exactly--engaged to Laura, were you, Dick?' A bold question from a father, but the circumstances were unusual. Apologetically, 'I never rightly knew.' 'No!' Dick has flung back his head again. Confidentially, 'Father, I sometimes thought of it, but it rather scared me! I expect that is about how it was with her, too.' 'She is very broken about you now.' Irritated, 'Oh, hang!' 'Would you like her to forget you, Dick?' 'Rather not. But she might help a fellow a bit. Hullo!' What calls forth this exclamation, is the little table at which the seance had taken place. The four chairs are still standing round it, as if they were guarding something. 'Here's something new, father; this table.' 'Yes, It is usually in the drawing-room.' 'Of course. I remember.' Mr. Don sets his teeth. 'Does that table suggest anything to you, Dick?' 'To me? Let me think. Yes, I used to play backgammon on it. What is it doing here?' 'Your mother brought it in.' 'To play games on? Mother!' 'I don't--know that it was a game, Dick.' 'But to play anything! I'm precious glad she can do that. Was Laura playing with her?' 'She was helping her.' 'Good for Laura.' He is looking at some slips of paper on the table. 'Are those pieces of paper used in the game? There is writing on them: "The first letter is H--the second letter is A--the third letter is R." What does it mean?' 'Does it convey no meaning to you, Dick?' 'To me? No; why should it?' Mr. Don is enjoying no triumph. 'Let us go back to the fire, my boy.' Dick follows him into the ingle-nook. 'But, why should it convey a meaning to me? I was never much of a hand at indoor games.' Brightly, 'I bet you Ockley would be good at it.' After a joyous ramble, 'Ockley's nickname still sticks to him!' 'I don't think I know it.' 'He was a frightful swell, you know. Keeper of the field, and played against Harrow the same year. I suppose it did go just a little to his head.' They are back in their old seats, and Mr. Don leans forward in gleeful anticipation. Probably Dick is leaning forward in the same way, and this old father is merely copying him. 'What did you nickname him, Dick?' 'It was his fags that did it!' 'I should like to know it. I say, do tell me, Dick.' 'He is pretty touchy about it now, you know.' 'I won't tell any one. Come on, Dick.' 'His fags called him K.C.M.G.' 'Meaning, meaning, Dick?' 'Meaning "Kindly Call Me God!"'