“Yes, you ungrateful young reprobate—that’s exactly what it means. Go to your Arcachon, by all means, since you’ve got a fortune to go on—I say—you—you didn’t know your aunt very well, did you? You’re not cut up much?” “I never saw her half a dozen times in my whole life. But she’s been generous to me, poor old lady!” “I should think so. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars is a nice sum for a young fellow to find in his pocket all on a sudden. And now—you want to go away and get well, and come back presently and begin where you left off—a year ago. Is that it?” “That is it. I shall never get well here, and I mean to get well if I can,”—he paused, and hesitated. “That was the only letter in my box this morning.” Braith did not answer. “It is nearly two months now,” continued Rex, in a low voice. “What are your plans?” interrupted Braith, brusquely. Rex flushed. “I’m going first”—he answered rather drily, “to Arcachon. You see by the letter my aunt died in Florence. Of course I’ve got to go and measure out a lot of Italian red tape before I can get the money. It seems to me the sooner I can get into the pine air and the sea breezes at Arcachon, the better chance I have of being fit to push on to Florence, via the Riviera, before the summer heat.” “And then?” “I don’t know.” “You will come back?” “When I am cured.” There was a long silence. At last Gethryn put a thin hand on Braith’s shoulder and looked him lovingly in the face. “You know, and I know, how little I have ever done to deserve your goodness, to show my gratitude and—and love for you. But if I ever come back I will prove to you—” Braith could not answer, and did not try to. He sat and looked at the floor, the sad lines about his mouth deeply marked, his throat moving once or twice as he swallowed the lump of grief that kept rising. After a while he muttered something about its being time for Rex’s supper and got up and fussed about with a spirit lamp and broths and jellies, more like Rex’s mother than a rough young bachelor. In the midst of his work there came a shower of blows on the studio door and Clifford, Rowden and Elliott trooped in without more ado. They set up a chorus of delighted yells at seeing Rex dressed and on the studio lounge. But Braith suppressed them promptly. “Don’t you know any better than that?” he growled. “What did you come for, anyway? It’s Rex’s supper time.” “We came, Papa,” said Clifford, “to tell Rex that I have reformed. We wanted him to know it as soon as we did ourselves.” “Ah! he’s a changed man! He’s worked all day at Julien’s for a week past,” cried Elliott and Rowden together. “And my evenings?” prompted Clifford sweetly. “Are devoted to writing letters home!” chanted the chorus.