They went into the sitting room to wait; and the waiting was hard. Wint tried to read the daily; his father took a book from the shelves. But Wint’s eyes strayed from the printed columns. He was in a curiously numb state of mind. This was part hopelessness, part the sheer suspense of waiting. Wint was one of those men who in their moments of greatest passion and excitement become outwardly serene and calm. Their own emotions put a physical inhibition on them so that they are still, and do not speak. Once or twice Chase glanced toward his son and saw Wint motionless, apparently absorbed, apparently quite at ease. But actually Wint was stirring to the throbbing of his heart, held still by the very fury of his own dread and anger and suspense. At fifteen minutes before eight, some one knocked on the front door. Wint said: “There he is,” and got up and went to the door; but when he opened it, Jack Routt stood there. Wint was surprised; he said slowly: “Oh, you, Jack?” Routt nodded, a little ill at ease. “Is Kite here?” he asked. “No. He’s coming.” Routt smiled ingratiatingly. “I don’t know what he wants. He told me to meet him here about eight, to have a talk with you.” “Told you to?” “Yes. I asked him what he meant; and he said to wait. I supposed he had made arrangements with you.” Wint said dully: “Yes, he has. He’s coming.” And after a moment, he added: “You might as well come in.” Routt grinned. “You’re damned cordial,” he remarked. “Oh, that’s all right,” Wint assured him abstractedly. He was thinking so swiftly that he seemed stupefied. His father came into the hall, and Wint said: “Here’s Jack Routt. Kite told him to come.” Chase looked at Routt uncertainly; and Routt said: “I’ll get out if you say so.” Wint shook his head. “No. Sit down. Go on in.” They went into the sitting room; but before they could sit down, some one else knocked. This time it was B. B. Beecham. He stood in the door when Wint opened it, and smiled, and said: “I’m not sure I understand, Wint. V. R. Kite telephoned me there was to be some sort of a conference here, about a matter for the good of Hardiston. I thought it curious that the word should come from him.” Wint laughed harshly. “All right, come in,” he said. “I don’t know any more about it than you do. I suppose Kite thought it would be cheaper to use our house than to hire a hall.” B. B. said simply: “I don’t want to inconvenience you.” “Come in,” Wint repeated. “I’m up in the air, that’s all. Routt’s here already. Kite will be along, I suppose.” “Routt?” B. B. echoed, in surprise. “Yes; in there.” Wint and B. B. went into the sitting room where Chase and Routt were talking awkwardly. After the first greetings, no one could think of anything more to say. B. B. broke the silence. “I saw a robin to-day,” he said. “They stay here, sometimes, right through the winter.”