"Winn's put us on to something," explained Charles. "Awfully good show, he says--on at the Oxford. Pretty hot stuff and the censor hasn't smelt it out yet--we rather thought we'd run up to-night and have a look at it." Winn stuck his hands in his pockets, set his jaw, and looked at his mother. Lady Staines was regarding him with steady eyes. "You didn't get a telegram, too?" she asked. "No," said Winn. "Why should I?" "Not likely," said James, genially. "Always behindhand in the--" "Damn these midges!" said Charles, hurriedly. James stopped with his mouth open. "Army, you were going to say, weren't you?" asked his mother, suavely. "If you are my sons I must say you make uncommonly poor liars." Sir Peter, whose attention had wandered to tender places in the lawn, looked up sharply. "What's that? What's that?" he asked. "Been telling lies, have they? A nice way you've brought 'em up, Sarah! What have they been lying about? A woman? Because if they have, I won't hear a word about it! Lies about a woman are perfectly correct, though I'm hanged if I can see how they can all three be lying about one woman. That seems a bit thick, I must say." To Sir Peter's surprise, nobody made any reply. Charles yawned, James whistled, and Winn kept his eyes steadily fixed on Lady Staines. "Those were orders then," Lady Staines observed in a dry quiet voice. "I thought it very likely. I suppose it's Germany. I felt sure we should have trouble with that excitable young man sooner or later. He had too good an opinion of himself to be an emperor." "Not Ulster!" exclaimed Sir Peter. "God bless my soul--not Ulster!" "Oh, we can take on Ulster afterwards," said James reassuringly. "Now we'll see what submarines can do; 'member the Japs?" "Winn," said Lady Staines, "before you're off, say good-by to your wife." Winn frowned, and then he said, "All right, Mother," and left them. It was a very still evening, the scent of new mown hay and the mysterious sweetness of the starry white tobacco plant haunted the delicate air. Winn found Estelle lying down by the open window. He had not been in her room for some time. He sat down by the sofa, and fingered the tassels at her waist. "Is anything the matter?" she asked coldly. He had only himself to thank that she was cold--he knew that. He saw so plainly now, all the mistakes he'd made, that the ones Estelle had made, receded into the distance. He'd never been gentle to her. Even when he thought he loved her, he wasn't really gentle. Gentleness was superlative kindness, and no woman who had not had just that sort of kindness from the man she married, could help being rather nasty. He had owed it to Estelle--no matter whether she told him the truth or not. "Look here, Estelle," he began. "I want our boy to go to Charterhouse." It wasn't exactly what he meant to say, but it was something; he had never called Peter "our boy" before. Estelle did not notice it.