But that was a small price to pay for freedom; Rupert and William had the whip hand and the rest of the Hepplestalls could howl, they could--they would; he could hear them--shriek “Treachery” and “Blasphemy” at him, but it was only a case of keeping a stiff upper lip through an unpleasant quarter of an hour, and he was quit of the Service for ever. There would no longer be a Service. That was a tremendous thought, breath-catching like--oh, like half a hundred things which had happened to him in France. Yes, that was the true perspective. The war had played the deuce with tradition, it had finished bigger things than the service of the Hepplestalls. They would have to see, these Hepplestalls, that he was a man of the new era, a realist, not to be bamboozled by their antique sentimentalities. If they wanted still to serve, it could be arranged, as part of the conditions of the purchase, that they should serve the incoming owner. He was disobliging nobody. He looked up to find Mary studying his face. “Sorry, old thing,” he said, “but these are rather important. Letters from Staithley.” “Staithley!” “Yes. I expect you’d forgotten there is such a place. I haven’t spoken of it, but Staithley has been in my mind a good deal lately. I’ve found myself wondering if I was altogether right in giving it the go-by. I’ve wondered if I quite played the game.” It didn’t hurt to say these things now that the means to abolish the Service were in his hands; he could admit aloud to Mary what he hadn’t cared, before, to admit to himself. And he was too interested in his point of view to note the quick thankfulness in Mary’s face, and her joy at his confession. Complacently he went on, “That’s putting it too strongly, but... ancestors. It’s absurd, but I’ve been in the street and I’ve had the idea that one of those musty old fellows who are hung up on the walls in Hepplestall’s office was following me about, going to trip me up or knock me on the head or something. I’ve looked over my shoulder. I’ve jumped into a taxi. Nerves, of course, and you’d have thought my nerves were tough enough at this time of day. I’m telling you this so that you’ll rejoice with me in these letters. They’re the answer to it all. There’s no question about playing the game when the game’s no longer there to play.”