It was only a week after his first morning ride with Lestrange, that Dick electrified the company at dinner, by turning down the glass at his plate. "I've cut out claret, and that sort of thing," he announced. "It's bad for the nerves." His three companions looked up in complete astonishment. It was Saturday night and by ancient custom Bailey was dining at the house. "What has happened to you? Have you been attending a revival meeting?" the young man's uncle inquired with sarcasm. "It's bad for the nerves," repeated Dick. "There isn't any reason why I shouldn't like to do anything other fellows do. Les--that is, none of the men who drive cars ever touch that stuff, and look at their nerve." Mr. Ffrench contemplated him with the irritation usually produced by the display of ostentatious virtue, but found no comment. Emily gazed at the table, her red mouth curving in spite of all effort at seriousness. "You're right, Mr. Dick," said Bailey dryly. "Stick to it." And Dick stuck, without as much as a single lapse. Ffrenchwood saw comparatively little of him, as time went on, the village and factory much. He lost some weight, and acquired a coat of reddish tan. Emily watched and admired in silence. She had not seen Lestrange again, but it seemed to her that his influence overlay all the life of both house and factory. Sometimes this showed so plainly that she believed Mr. Ffrench must see, must feel the silent force at work. But either he did not see or chose to ignore. And Dick was incautious. "I'm going to buy one of our roadsters myself," he stated one day. "Can I have it at cost?" Mr. Ffrench felt for his pince-nez. "You? Why do you not use the limousine?" "Because I don't want to go around in a box driven by a chauffeur. I want a classy car to run myself. I've been driving some of the stripped cars, lately, and I like it." "I will give you a car, if you want one," answered his uncle, quite kindly. "Go select any you prefer." "Thank you," Dick sat up, beaming. "But I'll have to wait my turn, we've orders ahead now. Lestrange says I've no right to come in and make some other fellow wait." Mr. Ffrench slowly stiffened. "We do not require lessons in ethics from this Lestrange," was the cold rebuke. "I shall telephone Bailey to send up your car at once." Rupert brought the sixty-horse-power roadster to the door, three hours later. And Emily appreciated that Lestrange was discreet as well as compelling, when she found the black-eyed young mechanician was detailed to accompany Dick's maiden trips; which duty was fulfilled, incidentally, with the fine tact of a Richelieu. In May there was a still greater accession of work at the factory. In addition, the first of June was to open with a twenty-four hour race at the Beach track, and Lestrange was entered for it. Excitement was in the air; Dick came in the house only to eat and sleep. The day before the race, Mr. Ffrench walked into the room where his niece was reading.