“She is another man’s wife,” said his father, “and it is a censorious world.” Robert Vyner looked down at the cloth. “If she were not, I suppose there would be some other objection?” he said gloomily. Mr. Vyner laid his cigar on the side of a plate and drew himself up. “My boy,” he said impressively, “I don’t think I deserve that. Both your mother and myself would—ha—always put your happiness before our own private inclinations.” He picked up his cigar again and placing it in his mouth looked the personification of injured fatherhood. “Do you mean,” said Robert, slowly, “do you mean that if she were single you would be willing for me to marry her?” “It is no good discussing that,” said Mr. Vyner with an air of great consideration. “But would you?” persisted his son. Mr. Vyner was a very truthful man as a rule, but there had been instances—he added another. “Yes,” he said with a slight gasp. Robert sprang up with a haste that overturned his coffee, and seizing his father’s hand shook it with enthusiasm. Mr. Vyner somewhat affected, responded heartily. “Anything possible for you, Bob,” he said, fervently, “but this is impossible.” His son looked at him. “I have never known you to go back on your word,” he said emphatically. “I never have,” said Mr. Vyner. “Your word is your bond,” said Robert smiling at him. “And now I want to tell you something.” “Well,” said the other, regarding him with a little uneasiness. “She is not married,” said Robert, calmly. Mr. Vyner started up and his cigar fell unheeded to the floor. “_What_!” he said, loudly. “She is not married,” repeated his son. Mr. Vyner sank back in his chair again and looking round mechanically for his cigar, found it tracing a design on the carpet. “D——n,” he said fervently, as he stooped to remove it. He tossed it in his plate and leaning back glared at his son. “Do you mean that she didn’t marry Trimblett?” he inquired in a trembling voice. “Yes.” Mr. Vyner drew the cigar-box toward him and selecting a cigar with great care, nipped off the end and, having lighted it, sat smoking in silence. “This is very extraordinary,” he said at last watching his son’s eyes. “I suppose she had a reason,” said Robert in a matter-of-fact voice. Mr. Vyner winced. He began to realize the true state of affairs and sat trembling in impotent wrath. Then he rose and paced up and down the room. He thought of his veiled threats to Hartley, and the idea that his son should know of them added fuel to his anger. “You are of full age,” he said bitterly, “and have your own income—now.” Robert flushed and then turned pale. “I will give that up if you wish, provided that you’ll retain Hartley,” he said, quietly. Mr. Vyner continued his perambulations. He smoked furiously and muttered something about “forcing conditions upon him.” “I can’t leave Hartley in the lurch,” said his son quietly. “It’s not his fault. I can look after myself.”