Mr. Vyner stopped and regarded him. “Don’t be a fool,” he said, shortly. “If it wasn’t for your mother—” His son repressed a smile by an effort and began to feel more at ease. One of Mrs. Vyner’s wifely privileges was to serve as an excuse for any display of weakness of which her husband might be guilty. “This pretended marriage will be a further scandal,” said Mr. Vyner, frowning. “What are you going to tell people?” “Nothing,” said Robert. “Do you think it is conducive to discipline to marry the daughter of my chief clerk?” continued his father. Robert shook his head. “No,” he said, decidedly. “I have been thinking of that. It would be better to give him a small interest in the firm—equal to his salary, say.” Well aware of the uses of physical exercise at moments of mental stress, Mr. Vyner started on his walk again. He began to wonder whether, after all, he ought to consider his wife’s feelings in the matter. “She is a very nice girl,” said Robert, after watching him for some time. “I wish you knew her.” Mr. Vyner waved the remark away with a large impatient hand. “She declines to marry me against your wishes,” continued his son, “but now that you have given your consent—” The room suddenly became too small for Mr. Vyner. He passed out into the hall and a few seconds later his son heard the library door close with an eloquent bang. He shrugged his shoulders and lighting a cigarette sat down to wait. He was half-way through his third cigarette when the door opened and his father came into the room again. “I have been talking to your mother,” said Mr. Vyner, in a stately fashion. “She is very much upset, of course. Very. She is not strong, and I—ha—we came to the conclusion that you must do as you please.” He stepped to the table and with a trembling hand helped himself to a whiskey and soda. Robert took up a glass with a little claret in it. “Success to the young couple,” he said cheerfully. Mr. Vyner paused with the glass at his lips and eyed him indignantly. Then with a wooden expression of face—intended possibly to suggest that he had not heard—took a refreshing drink. He placed the glass on the table and turned to see his son’s outstretched hand. CHAPTER XXVI CAPTAIN TRIMBLETT was back again in his old quarters, and already so much improved in health that he was able to repel with considerable vigor the many inquirers who were anxious to be put in possession of the real facts concerning his pretended marriage. It was a subject on which the captain was dumb, but in some mysterious fashion it came to be understood that it was a device on the part of a self-sacrificing and chivalrous ship-master to save Miss Hartley from the attentions of a determined admirer she had met in London. It was the version sanctioned—if not invented—by Mr. Robert Vyner.