“Tchah! He is, I repeat, absolutely dependent on me. Give me time, and I can deal adequately and temperately with the young hothead. As for Miss Joyce, Ben, between ourselves, and from my knowledge of her father, that young lady will not be permitted to enter any family where she is not heartily welcomed by a majority of its members.” Having thus expressed himself, magisterially, the Squire relaxed mind and body. He lay back in his big chair and smiled genially. To his immense surprise, Fishpingle remained silent. Lady Pomfret spoke: “There are only three members of our family, Geoffrey, and Joyce will be heartily welcomed by two of them.” The Squire stared at her. She met his eyes steadily. Utterly confounded, he stammered out: “Did you say, Mary, two of ’em?” “Yes. Lionel and—myself.” Sir Geoffrey sprang to his feet, alert and furious. “Good God!” Lady Pomfret said mildly: “I fear this is a shock to you.” He looked apoplectic. Even now, realisation that his wife sided against him had not quite come to him. “A shock,” he repeated, “a shock? It’s positively an—an—what word do I want?” By long force of habit, he turned to his faithful henchman. “An earthquake?” suggested Fishpingle. “Yes. Thank you, Ben. This is an earthquake. I—I feel as if the foundations of my life had been—a—undermined. Not a word, I beg you.” He walked to the window and, for the second time that morning, flung it wide open. The familiar landscape met his gaze. Vaguely, he became aware of the smooth lawn, the terrace, the clumps of trees—his beloved possessions. But the vision of them was blurred. An old hunter, turned into the park to end his days there, was grazing near the deer. His eyes dwelt upon this faithful friend. If he went up to old Champion, would the horse savage him? He felt “savaged” by his wife. That was his first lucid impression. The animal instinct to “hit back” tore at him. With a tremendous effort he controlled it. He turned. Fishpingle had not moved. Lady Pomfret sat still on the sofa, looking down. He approached her. “You—you are against me in this, Mary?” “Yes, also!” she sighed. “You have been conspiring with Ben. You, my wife, have entered into a cursed league with my—servant?” She replied tranquilly: “I obeyed the letter of your injunction, Geoffrey. I tried to make your—your ‘servant’ see himself as I see him. And I see him more and more clearly as the one man I know who has subordinated his interests, his ambitions, his advancement, to ours. I see him exalted far above us—this friend of many years.” “My lady!” exclaimed Fishpingle. Sir Geoffrey remained speechless for some moments. His voice broke as he answered her: “I cannot trust myself to reply to you, Mary. But I say this—you have made a fool of me.” He turned sharply to Fishpingle. “This means that you are not prepared to offer me an apology?” “I am not, Sir Geoffrey.” The Squire addressed his wife, peremptorily: “Please leave us, Mary.”