“In '32!” repeated John. “Agriculture had its importance then. Now it has none. Besides, they've no cohesion, no power, like the miners or railway men. Rising? No chance, no earthly! Weight of metal's dead against it.” Felix smiled. “Money and guns! Guns and money! Confess with me, brethren, that we're glad of metal.” John stared and Stanley drank off his whiskey and potash. Felix really was a bit 'too thick' sometimes. Then Stanley said: “Wonder what Tod thinks of it all. Will you go over, Felix, and advise that our young friends be more considerate to these poor beggars?” Felix nodded. And with 'Good night, old man' all round, and no shaking of the hands, the three brothers dispersed. But behind Felix, as he opened his bedroom door, a voice whispered: “Dad!” And there, in the doorway of the adjoining room, was Nedda in her dressing-gown. “Do come in for a minute. I've been waiting up. You ARE late.” Felix followed her into her room. The pleasure he would once have had in this midnight conspiracy was superseded now, and he stood blinking at her gravely. In that blue gown, with her dark hair falling on its lace collar and her face so round and childish, she seemed more than ever to have defrauded him. Hooking her arm in his, she drew him to the window; and Felix thought: 'She just wants to talk to me about Derek. Dog in the manger that I am! Here goes to be decent!' So he said: “Well, my dear?” Nedda pressed his hand with a little coaxing squeeze. “Daddy, darling, I do love you!” And, though Felix knew that she had grasped what he was feeling, a sort of warmth spread in him. She had begun counting his fingers with one of her own, sitting close beside him. The warmth in Felix deepened, but he thought: 'She must want a good deal out of me!' Then she began: “Why did we come down again? I know there's something wrong! It's hard not to know, when you're anxious.” And she sighed. That little sigh affected Felix. “I'd always rather know the truth, Dad. Aunt Clara said something about a fire at the Mallorings'.” Felix stole a look at her. Yes! There was a lot in this child of his! Depth, warmth, and strength to hold to things. No use to treat her as a child! And he answered: “My dear, there's really nothing beyond what you know—our young man and Sheila are hotheads, and things over there are working up a bit. We must try and smooth them down.” “Dad, ought I to back him whatever he does?” What a question! The more so that one cannot answer superficially the questions of those whom one loves. “Ah!” he said at last. “I don't know yet. Some things it's not your duty to do; that's certain. It can't be right to do things simply because he does them—THAT'S not real—however fond one is.” “No; I feel that. Only, it's so hard to know what I do really think—there's always such a lot trying to make one feel that only what's nice and cosey is right!”