He had never properly realized that it was possible for any one to regard Marjorie as a daughter, to order her about and resent the research for her society as criminal. It was a new light in his world. Some day he was to learn the meaning of fatherhood, but in these night watches he regarded it as a hideous survival of mediæval darknesses. "Of course," he said, entirely ignoring the actual quality of their conversation, "she had to explain about the Magnet affair. Can't one--converse?" He reflected through great intervals. "I _will_ see her! Why on earth shouldn't I see her?" "I suppose they can't lock her up!" For a time he contemplated a writ of Habeas Corpus. He saw reason to regret the gaps in his legal knowledge. "Can any one get a writ of Habeas Corpus for any one--it doesn't matter whom"--more especially if you are a young man of six-and-twenty, anxious to exchange a few richly charged words with a girl of twenty who is engaged to someone else? The night had no answer. It was nearly dawn when he came to the entirely inadvisable conclusion--I use his own word's--to go and have it out with the old ruffian. He would sit down and ask him what he meant by it all--and reason with him. If he started flourishing that stick again, it would have to be taken away. And having composed a peroration upon the institution of the family of a character which he fondly supposed to be extraordinarily tolerant, reasonable and convincing, but which was indeed calculated to madden Mr. Pope to frenzy, Mr. Trafford went very peacefully to sleep. § 4 Came dawn, with a noise of birds and afterwards a little sleep, and then day, and heavy eyes opened again, and the sound of frying and the smell of coffee recalled our actors to the stage. Mrs. Pope was past her worst despair; always the morning brings courage and a clearer grasp of things, and she could face the world with plans shaped subconsciously during those last healing moments of slumber. Breakfast was difficult, but not impossible. Mr. Pope loomed like a thundercloud, but Marjorie pleaded a headache very wisely, and was taken a sympathetic cup of tea. The pseudo-twins scented trouble, but Theodore was heedless and over-full of an entertaining noise made by a moorhen as it dived in the ornamental water that morning. You could make it practically _sotto voce_, and it amused Syd. He seemed to think the _Times_ opaque to such small sounds, and learnt better only to be dismissed underfed and ignominiously from the table to meditate upon the imperfections of his soul in the schoolroom. There for a time he was silent, and then presently became audible again, playing with a ball and, presumably, Marjorie's tennis racquet.