She went out. Lionel opened the door for his mother, closed it behind her, and came back. Obviously, he was losing control of his temper. His fingers were clenched; an angry light sparkled in his eyes; he carried a high head. Sir Geoffrey saw none of this. He was glaring at Fishpingle. The autocrat addressed his butler: “I am furious with you, sir. Thanks to you and your precious kinswoman I have been forced, sorely against the grain, to refuse a guest a favour, and, worse, to rebuke my dear wife.” Lionel cast discretion to the void. The Pomfret temper might be deemed an heirloom. It slumbered in Lionel. Now—it woke. “This is damnable.” The Squire could hardly believe his ears. When he turned upon his son, his eyes, also, seemed hardly to be trusted. Lionel was positively glaring at him. Rank mutiny! Riot! “How dare you take this tone, boy?” Lionel attempted no apology. “I would remind you, sir, that I am a man, and not only your son, but your heir. If I survive you, which at one time didn’t seem likely, this property and its responsibilities must come to me. I have a right—indeed, sir, it is my duty—to protest against an act of injustice and cruelty.” “Leave the room, sir. This is intolerable.” Lionel boiled over. Behold the creeper at awkward fences! Behold the craner! Fishpingle, standing behind the Squire, hoisted warning signals. In vain. A hot-headed youth was riding hard for a fall. He met his father’s eyes defiantly. “I am not blind, sir, to your plans for my future. You intended me, your own son, to be a pawn in your hands.” Fishpingle groaned. “Master Lionel——!” “Fishpingle, I have been a coward. I asked for your help. I wanted you to plead my cause, to use your influence——” The Squire started. “Influence? You asked another man to influence—me. Are you stark mad? And what cause, pray, is he to plead? Answer me.” Fishpingle stretched out his hands. “Master Lionel——” “Hold your damned tongue, Ben!” “Please,” said Lionel. Fishpingle crossed slowly to the window, and looked out over the park. Two men whom he had loved and served were standing upon the edge of an abyss and he was powerless to avert disaster. His spirit travailed within him, bringing forth nothing. He heard Sir Geoffrey say, in a frozen voice: “I am waiting, Lionel, for an explanation, and an apology.” The son answered in the same hard, cold tone: “I am too proud, father, to explain a fact, which needs no explanation and no apology. Last Sunday afternoon I asked Joyce Hamlin to become my wife, and she did me the honour of accepting me.” Without pausing to watch the effect of this stunning blow, he turned and left the room. Fishpingle remained at the window. * * * * * CHAPTER XV