A month had passed since he had given the care of his children into Gertrude's hands. She was up-stairs now superintending their disposal for the night. He and Jane were alone in a half-hour before dinner, waiting for John and Henry and the Protheros to come and dine. The house was very still. Brodrick could not have believed that it was possible, the perfection of the peace that had descended on them. He appealed to Jane. She couldn't deny that it was peace. Jane didn't deny it. She had nothing whatever to say against an arrangement that had turned out so entirely for the children's good. She kept her secret to herself. Her secret was that she would have given all the peace and all the perfection for one scream of Hughy's and the child's arms round her neck. "You wouldn't know," Brodrick said, "that there was a child in the house." Jane agreed. Ah, yes, if _that_ was peace, they had it. Well, wasn't it? After that infernal row he made? You couldn't say anything when the poor little chap was ill and couldn't help it, but you couldn't have let him cultivate screaming as a habit. It was wonderful the effect that woman had on him. He couldn't think how she did it. It was as if her mere presence in a room---- He thought that Jane was going to admit that as she had admitted everything, but as he looked at her he saw that her mouth had lifted at its winged corners, and her eyes were darting their ominous light. "It's awful of me, I know," she said, "but her presence in a room--in the house, Hugh--makes me feel as if _I_ could scream the roof off." (He glanced uneasily at her.) "She makes me want to _do_ things." "What things?" he inquired mildly. "The things I mustn't--to break loose--to kick over the traces----" "You don't surprise me." He smoothed his face to the expression proper to a person unsurprised, dealing imperturbably with what he had long ago foreseen. "Sometimes I think that if Gertrude were not so good, I might be more so. You're all so good," she said. "_You_ are so good, so very, very good." "I observe," said Brodrick, "a few elementary rules, as you do yourself." "But I don't want," she said, "to observe them any more. I want to put my foot through all the rules." The front door bell rang as the chiming clock struck eight. "That's John," he said, "and Henry." "Did you ever put your foot through a rule? Did John? Did Henry? Fancy John setting out on an adventure with his hair brushed like that and his spectacles on----" They were announced. She rose to greet them. They waited. The clock with its soft silver insistence struck the quarter. It was awful, she said, to have to live with a clock that struck the quarter; and Henry shook his head at her and said, "Nerves, Jinny, nerves." John looked at his watch. "I thought," said John, "you dined at eight." "So did I," said Brodrick. He turned to Jane. "Your friend Prothero does not observe the rule of punctuality."