“May I come in?” “It’s our secret,” she whispered to Michael. “Yes, come in, father,” he said. Lord Ashbridge stood towering in the doorway. “Come, my dear,” he said, not unkindly, “it’s time for you to go to bed.” She had become the mask of herself again. “Yes, Robert,” she said. “I suppose it must be late. I will come. Oh, there’s Petsy. Will you ring, Michael? then Fedden will come and take him to bed. He sleeps with Fedden.” CHAPTER IX Michael, in desperate conversational efforts next morning at breakfast, mentioned the fact that the German Emperor had engaged him in a substantial talk at Munich, and had recommended him to pass the winter at Berlin. It was immediately obvious that he rose in his father’s estimation, for, though no doubt primarily the fact that Michael was his son was the cause of this interest, it gave Michael a sort of testimonial also to his respectability. If the Emperor had thought that his taking up a musical career was indelibly disgraceful--as Lord Ashbridge himself had done--he would certainly not have made himself so agreeable. On anyone of Lord Ashbridge’s essential and deep-rooted snobbishness this could not fail to make a certain effect; his chilly politeness to Michael sensibly thawed; you might almost have detected a certain cordiality in his desire to learn as much as possible of this gratifying occurrence. “And you mean to go to Berlin?” he asked. “I’m afraid I shan’t be able to,” said Michael; “my master is in London.” “I should be inclined to reconsider that, Michael,” said the father. “The Emperor knows what he is talking about on the subject of music.” Lady Ashbridge looked up from the breakfast she was giving Petsy II. His dietary was rather less rich than that of the defunct, and she was afraid sometimes that his food was not nourishing enough. “I remember the concert we had here,” she said. “We had the ‘Song to Aegir’ twice.” Lord Ashbridge gave her a quick glance. Michael felt he would not have noticed it the evening before. “Your memory is very good, my dear,” he said with encouragement. “And then we had a torchlight procession,” she remarked. “Quite so. You remember it perfectly. And about his visit here, Michael. Did he talk about that?” “Yes, very warmly; also about our international relations.” Lord Ashbridge gave a little giggle. “I must tell Barbara that,” he said. “She has become a sort of Cassandra, since she became a diplomatist, and sits on her tripod and prophesies woe.” “She asked me about it,” said Michael. “I don’t think she believes in his sincerity.” He giggled again. “That’s because I didn’t ask her down for his visit,” he said. He rose. “And what are you going to do, my dear?” he said to his wife. She looked across to Michael. “Perhaps Michael will come for a stroll with me,” she said. “No doubt he will. I shall have a round of golf, I think, on this fine morning. I should like to have a word with you, Michael, when you’ve finished your breakfast.”