Ronder stood there for a moment gazing at the bright grass, the little houses with their shining knockers, the purple shadow of the Cathedral. Had he done right? Was Wistons the man? Might he not be more dangerous than...? No, no, too late now. The fight with Brandon must move to its appointed end. Poor Brandon! Poor dear Brandon! He looked across at the house as on the evening of his arrival from that same step he had looked. Poor Brandon! He would like to do something for him, some little kindly unexpected act! He closed the door and softly padded upstairs, humming happily to himself that little chant. Chapter II Two in the House A letter from Falk to Joan. Dear Joan--Mother has been here. I could get nothing out of her. I had only one thing to say--that she must go back to father. That was the one thing that she asserted, over and over again, that she never would. Joan, she was tragic. I felt that I had never seen her before, never known her. She was thinking of nothing but Morris. She seemed to see him all the time that she was in the room with me. She is going abroad with Morris at the end of this week--to South America, I believe. Mother doesn't seem now to care what happens, except that she will not go back to father. She said an odd thing to me at the end--that she had had her time, her wonderful time, and that she could never be as unhappy or as lonely as she was, and that she would love him always (Morris, I suppose), and that he would love her. The skunk that Morris is! And yet I don't know. Haven't I been a skunk too? And yet I don't feel a skunk. If only father would be happy! Then things would be better than they've ever been. You don't know how good Annie is, Joan. How fine and simple and true! Why are we all such mixtures? Why can't you ever do what's right for yourself without hurting other people? But I'm not going to wait much longer. If things aren't better soon I'm coming down whether he'll see me or no. We _must_ make him happy. We're all that he has now. Once this Pybus thing is settled I'll come down. Write to me. Tell me everything. You're a brick, Joan, to take all this as you do. Why did we go all these years without knowing one another?--Your loving brother, FALK. A letter from Joan to Falk. DEAREST FALK--I'm answering you by return because I'm so frightened. If I send you a telegram, come down at once. Mr. Morris's sister-in-law is telling everybody that he only went up to London on business. But she's not going to stay here, I think. But I can't think much even of mother. I can think of no one but father. Oh, Falk, it's been terrible these last three days, and I don't know _what's_ going to happen.