But he, standing behind her, wore an unmistakable air of victory. So confident was it, and so assured the whole aspect of his dominant figure, that I prepared myself to hear that the verdict of the morning was reversed and that the neighborhood--and all that meant--were to go hang. Yet his first words contradicted both my forecast and his own appearance. He spoke in a chafing tone. "Behold in me, Austin, the Banished Duke! Never again may I tread the halls of Breysgate--at any rate, not for the present! I have offended a proud baronet--a belted earl demands my expulsion. And my liege lady banishes me!" "Don't be so silly," said Jenny--but gently, ever so gently, and with a smile. "Serves you right, in my opinion," said I. "I suppose so," he answered, "and I bear no malice. I'm glad Aspenick didn't force me to wring his neck. But I shall be very lonely--nobody comes here--well, not many are invited! Will you drop in on the exile and smoke a pipe now and then after dinner?" "Oh, yes, I'll look you up." My tone was impatient, I know: his burlesque was neither intelligible nor grateful to me. "After dinner, if that suits you. I'm going to take advantage of my solitude to work in the daytime. The door will be barred till nine o'clock." I nodded--and looked at my watch. "Yes," said Jenny, "we must be going. Everything's settled, Austin, and--and Mr. Octon has been very kind." "I'm glad to hear that anyhow," I said grumpily. If he had been kind, why had I heard that wail? In fact I was thoroughly puzzled--and therefore both vexed and uneasy. He accepted his banishment--and yet was friendly. That result seemed a great victory for Jenny--yet she did not look victorious. It was Octon who wore the air of exultation and self-satisfaction; yet he had been thrown to the wolves, abandoned to the pack of Fillingfords and Aspenicks. Well, that could not be the whole truth of it, though what more there might be I could not guess. He came with us down the gravel path which led from the hall door to the road, where the brougham was waiting. Jenny pointed across the road--where Ivydene stood with its strip of garden. "That's the house I meant, you know," she said, evidently referring to something that had passed in their private conversation. He stood smiling at her, with his hands in his pockets. He really was, for him, ridiculously amiable, though his amiability, like everything else about him, was rough, almost boisterous. "If you must go on with your beastly Institute," he said, "and must have a beastly house for a beastly office, to make your beastly plans and do your other beastly work in, why, I daresay that beastly house will do as well as any other beastly house for your beastly purpose. Only do choose beastly clerks, or whatever they're going to be, who haven't got any beastly children to play beastly games and make a beastly noise in the garden."