And, last of all, yet of supreme importance, he desired leisure, undisturbed, to study his own cumulative development, to humorously thwart it, or misunderstand it, or slyly aid it now and then--always aware of and attentive to that extraneous something which held him so motionless, at moments, listening attentively as though to a command. For, from that morning four years ago when, crushed with fatigue, he strove to keep his vigil beside his father who, toward daybreak, had been feigning sleep--from that dreadful dawn when, waking with the crash of the shot in his ears, his blinded gaze beheld the passing of a soul--he understood that he was no longer his own master. Not that the occult triad, Chance, Fate, and Destiny ruled; they only modified his orbit. But from the centre of things Something that ruled them was pulling him toward it, slowly, steadily, inexorably drawing him nearer, lessening the circumference of his path, attenuating it, circumscribing, limiting, controlling. And long since he had learned to name this thing, undismayed--this one thing remaining in the world in which his father's son might take a sporting interest. * * * * * He had been in New York two weeks, enjoying existence in his own fashion, untroubled by any demands, questions, or scruples concerning responsibility, when a passionate letter from Portlaw disturbed the placid interlude: "Confound it, Louis, haven't you the common decency to come back when you know I've had a bunch of people here to be entertained? "Nobody's heard a peep from you. What on earth do you mean by this? "Miss Palliser, Mrs. Ascott, Miss Cardross are here, also Wayward, and Gray Cardross--which with you and Mrs. Malcourt and myself solves the Bridge proposition--or would have solved it. But without warning, yesterday, your sister and brother-in-law arrived, bag and baggage, and Mrs. Malcourt has given them the west wing of your house. I believe she was as astonished as I, but she will not admit it. "I don't know whether this is some sorry jest of yours--not that Lady Tressilvain and her noble spouse are unwelcome--but for Heaven's sake consider Wayward's feelings--cooped up in camp with his ex-wife! It wasn't a very funny thing to do, Louis; but now that it's done you can come back and take care of the mess you've made. "As for Mrs. Malcourt, she is not merely a trump, she is a hundred aces and a grand slam in a redoubled Without!--if that's possible. But Mrs. Ascott is my pillar of support in what might easily become a fool of a situation.