"You've got a lovely voice," said the Colonel. "Wish I could sing like that. Could once, when a kid--in a choir," he said with a wry smile, pouring out a whiskey and soda. "Lor--you in a choir," smirked Fluffy, pushing a thin finger into his pendulous stomach. The Colonel resented this familiarity. "Yes, my gal, me in a choir--and solo tenor too, don't you forget it!" He gulped down his drink and sighed. Pop put her arms round his neck and kissed his bald head. "Did 'ums den," she crooned, and they all laughed. Soon afterwards they left, Pop and the Colonel standing in the doorway until the lift had gone down. Later, walking down Mariton Street, after they had parted from Fluffy and Pansy, de Courtrai discussed the girls. "Orl right, of course, but, as you know, not ladies." "Is the Colonel Pop's father?" asked John. His two companions halted and stared at him. "My dear child--" began de Courtrai. "Dean's my name." De Courtrai gaped. "Really if you resent our--" Wellington drawled. "I do resent being made a fool," said John, hotly. The conversation was strained for the rest of the walk home. The Viennese clock in the drawing-room struck three as they lighted their candles in the hall. II The following morning, in a contemplative hour in bed, John was conscience smitten. He was on the road to ruin, exactly as in the books he had scoffed at. Flashy companions, the stage, the stage door, actresses, fast places of resort, doubtful flats, men of loose morals, and drink--yes, three drinks, two in the bar--the bar!--and one at the Colonel's, and then, as ended all vulgar affairs, a quarrel on the way home. What would Muriel think if she knew? Was this the way he was winning through? He had been in London four days and was on the downward path. Penitent, he sprang out of bed, and to strengthen his will, denied himself even a dash of warm water in his bath. At breakfast de Courtrai and Wellington were missing, for which he was grateful. It was good to talk with the Irish girl, enjoy her bright laughter and the fresh look in her eyes; what a contrast to those bedizened ladies of the ballet. Mrs. Perdie was in her most motherly mood; she came up specially from the kitchen to have a look at Mr. John. "I wondered if you were coming in, Mr. Dean--I was awake with my lumbago--but there you are. It's a strange young man who can resist the night air of London!" He felt inclined to resent her comment, but it was so good-natured that he laughed in reply. The real mother emerged half an hour later when she met him alone in the hall, where he came to enquire after his laundry. "You'll soon lose that lovely colour of yours, Mr. Dean, in this whirlpool, if you deny yourself proper rest. I've seen many a bright young gentleman go dull through coming home with the milk. Perhaps I shouldn't say it, but lor, Mr. Perdie always said I was mother-mad, an' p'raps I am. You'll not wear yourself out chasing the moon down, will you?"