After Percival and his sister had also gone Alice said:-- “Dear Peter's growing up.” “Yes,” said Bobby. “My sweet young brother wants the most beautiful kicking and he'll get it very soon.” Then he looked at the clock. “I must go up and dress.” “I'm rather glad,” said Alice, “I'm not coming. Clare gets considerably on my nerves just at present.” “Yes,” said Bobby, “but thank God Mr. Cardillac's in Paris--for the time being.” Then he added, reflectively-- “Dear old Peter--bless him!” CHAPTER XV MR. WESTCOTT SENIOR CALLS CHECKMATE I Peter felt as he closed the hall door behind him that The Roundabout was both cold and dark. The little hall drew dusk into its corners very swiftly and now, as he switched on the electric light, he was conscious almost of protest on the part of the place, as though it wished that it might have been left to its empty dusk. A maid passed him. “Has your mistress gone upstairs?” he asked her. “I don't think she has come in, sir.” “Not come in?” “No, sir, she went out about three o'clock. I don't think she's come back, sir.” She's running it pretty close, he thought as he looked at his watch--then he went slowly up to dress. He had been more irritated by the superiorities of young Percival Galleon than he had cared to confess. Peter had, at the bottom of his soul, a most real and even touching humility. He had no kind of opinion of his abilities, of his work in comparison with the other workers that counted. Moreover he would not, were his ultimate critical sense aroused, fail to admit to himself some certain standard of achievement. Nothing that young Galleon could say mattered from the critical standpoint--nevertheless he seemed to represent, in this case, a universal opinion; even in his rejection of Peter one could see, behind him, a world of readers withdrawing their approval. “Peter Westcott's no good.... Peter Westcott's no good.... Peter Westcott's no good....” In any case that was quite enough to account for the oppression that he was feeling--feeling with increasing force as the minutes passed. He undressed and dressed again slowly, wondering vaguely, loosely, in the back of his mind, why it was that Clare had not come in. Perhaps she had come in and the maid had not heard her. He took the ruby out of his pocket, opened the little case, looked at the jewel shining there under the electric light, thought of Clare with a sudden rush of passionate affection. “Dear thing, won't she look lovely in it? Her neck's so white and she's never worn much jewellery--she'll be pleased. She'll know why I'm giving it to her now--a kind of seal on what we agreed to the other night. A new life ... new altogether....”