The young man said nothing. Harkness meekly followed, the candle-light splashing the walls and floor with its wavering shadows. Their heads were gigantic on the faded wall-paper, and Harkness had a sudden fancy that the shadows here were the realities and he a mist. The younger Crispin gave that sense of unreality. A kind of weariness went with him as though he were the personification of a strangled yawn. And yet beneath the weariness and indifference there was a flame burning. One realised it in that strange absorbed stare of the eyes, in a kind of determination in the movements, in a concentrated indifference to any motive of life but the intended one. Harkness was to realise this with a start of alarmed surprise when, once more in the long shabby room lit only by the light of one uncertain candle, young Crispin turned upon him and shot out at him in his harsh rasping voice: "What are you here for?" They were standing one on either side of the table, and between them on the floor were the white scattered fragments of the torn "Orvieto." "I told you," said Harkness. "I left my match-box. I won't keep you a moment if you'll allow me to take that candle----" "No, no," said the other impatiently, "I don't mean that. What do I care for your match-box? You are worrying my father. I must beg you, very seriously, never to come near him again." "Indeed," said Harkness, laughing, "I don't understand you. How could I worry your father? I have never seen him in my life before this evening. He invited me out here for an hour's chat. I am going now. He is leaving for abroad to-morrow. I don't suppose that we shall ever meet again. Please allow me just to find my match-box and go." But Crispin had apparently heard nothing. He stood, his hand tapping the table. "I don't wish to appear rude, Mr.--Mr.----" "Harkness is my name," Harkness said. "I beg your pardon. I didn't catch it when my father introduced me this evening. I don't want to seem offensive in any way. I simply thought this a good opportunity for a few words that may help you to understand the situation. "My father is my chief care, Mr. Harkness. He is everything to me in the world. He has no one to look after him but myself. He is, as you must have seen, very nervous and susceptible to different personalities. I could see at once to-night that your personality is one that would have a very disturbing effect on him. He does not recognise these things himself, and so I have to protect him. I beg you to leave him alone." "But really," Harkness cried, "the boot's on the other leg. Your father has been very charming in showing me his lovely things, but it was he who sought me out, not I him. I haven't the least desire to push my acquaintance with him, or indeed with yourself, any further." Crispin's cold eyes regarded Harkness steadily, then he moved round the table until he was close beside him.