Lady Pomfret stood up. The two men gazed at her, each profoundly moved in different ways. To each she revealed herself as mistress of the situation. Never had her quality shone out so unmistakably. Her serenity came back, and with it an indescribable emanation of power—that undeniable authority founded not upon tradition and pride of place, but radiating dazzingly from a pure and sincere heart. To Fishpingle she seemed transfigured; to Sir Geoffrey, for the moment, she had ceased to be his wife. She moved slowly to Fishpingle: “God bless you, my dear Ben.” Sir Geoffrey opened the door. His courtesy didn’t fail him. Lady Pomfret paused before she passed through. Her voice was clear and sweet: “And may God bless all you do, my dear husband.” Sir Geoffrey closed the door. * * * * * He went back to the open window, hoping, possibly, to inhale inspiration from Nether-Applewhite air. Really, he was gasping for air, like a boxer after a stiff bout. And yet, flustered as he was, he remained the slave of habit. Always he had pigeon-holed affairs of importance, dealing drastically with little things, purging his mind of them first, so that he could approach the big thing with a clear brain. Sound policy! At this crisis, when, as he put it, the foundations of life seemed to be crumbling, when _his_ wife and _his_ son arraigned _his_ authority, he returned, like an old hound, to the original line, bent upon pulling down his quarry. His wife had failed him! The greater reason that he should not fail. In his own words, “Ben must be downed.” To achieve this with dignity and courtesy engrossed his energies and attention. He left the window, and took up a commanding position on the hearthrug, with his back to the portrait of his father. He began temperately, sensible that it behooved him to set an example of good temper and forbearance: “I have made allowances for you, Ben. I have assumed part of the blame for what took place yesterday, because it is true that you’ve worked faithfully for me and mine. But no servant can speak as you spoke to me and remain in my service. The thing is unthinkable—impossible. And yet, you offer no apology.” He spoke so kindly, with such sincere amazement, that Fishpingle evaded the issue. “Consider the years I’ve been here, Sir Geoffrey, and all, all that the dear old place means to me.” “That, Ben, is a reason for behaving so that you can still belong to us.” The Squire felt more at his ease again. He told himself that he was dealing faithfully with a misguided man. Fishpingle’s next words confirmed this faith. “I am grieved to have angered you, deeply grieved.” “Ah! Now, Ben, we are coming together.” “Are we, Sir Geoffrey? I wish that it were so. But how—how can I stand up as a man and say that I’m wrong when I feel here,” he struck his chest, “that I’m—right?” The Squire cocked his chin at a more obtuse angle. “By God! It’s I that am wrong, is it?”