"So we were. In Dijon! For my French!" He added: "Then she can't be father's daughter. It's a good thing. I thought, as he wanted to settle money on them, they were very likely his children. There's a son, too. He's to have a thousand. What's he doing?" "The son," Tietjens said, "is a conscientious objector. He's on a mine-sweeper. A bluejacket. His idea is that picking up mines is saving life, not taking it." "Then he won't want the brass yet," Mark said, "it's to start him in any business. What's the full name and address of your girl? Where do you keep her?" They were in an open space, dusty, with half-timber buildings whose demolition had been interrupted. Christopher halted close to a post that had once been a cannon; up against this he felt that his brother could lean in order to assimilate ideas. He said slowly and patiently: "If you're consulting with me as to how to carry out our father's intentions, and as there's money in it you had better make an attempt to get hold of the facts. I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't a matter of money. In the first place, no money is wanted at this end. I can live on my pay. My wife is a rich woman, relatively. Her mother is a very rich woman. . . ." "She's Rugeley's mistress, isn't she?" Mark asked. Christopher said: "No, she isn't. I should certainly say she wasn't. Why should she be? She's his cousin." "Then it's your wife who was Rugeley's mistress?" Mark asked. "Or why should she have the loan of his box?" "Sylvia also is Rugeley's cousin, of course, a degree further removed," Tietjens said. "She isn't anyone's mistress. You can be certain of that." "They _say_ she is," Mark answered. "They say she's a regular tart. . . . I suppose you think I've insulted you." Christopher said: "No, you haven't. . . . It's better to get all this out. We're practically strangers, but you've a right to ask." Mark said: "Then you haven't got a girl and don't need money to keep her. . . . You could have what you liked. There's no reason why a man shouldn't have a girl, and if he has he ought to keep her decently. . . ." Christopher did not answer. Mark leaned against the half-buried cannon and swung his umbrella by its crook. "But," he said, "if you don't keep a girl what do you do for . . ." He was going to say "for the comforts of home," but a new idea had come into his mind. "Of course," he said, "one can see that your wife's soppily in love with you." He added: "Soppily . . . one can see that with half an eye. . . ."