“But, of course,” cried George, “there’s _something_ to be done. They must be stopped at once. I’ll go up by the next train.” “There’s no train until six to-morrow morning—and what good would you do? They’re engaged. You gave your permission. Katherine’s of age. It is her own affair.” They all cried out together. Their voices sounded to Mrs. Trenchard like the screams of children. Through the confusion there came the sound of an opening door. They all turned, and saw that it was old Mr. Trenchard, assisted by Rocket. “Why don’t you come in to dinner?” he said, in his clear, thin voice. “I went straight into the dining-room because I was late, and here you all are, and it’s nearly half-past eight.” The same thought instantly struck them all. Grandfather must know nothing about it; a very slight shock, they were all aware, would _kill_ Grandfather, and there could not possibly be any shock to him like this amazing revolt of Katherine’s. Therefore he must know nothing. Like bathers asserting themselves after the first quiver of an icy plunge, they fought their way to the surface. Until Grandfather was safely once more alone in his room the situation must be suspended. After all, there was _nothing_ to be done! He, because he was feeling well that evening, was intent upon his dinner. “What! Waiting for Katherine?” he said. “Katherine isn’t coming down to dinner, Father,” Mrs. Trenchard said. “What, my dear?” “Katherine isn’t coming down to dinner.” “Not ill, I hope.” “No—a little tired.” George Trenchard was the only one who did not support his part. When the old man had passed through the door, George caught his wife’s arm. “But, I say,” he whispered, “something—” She turned for an instant, looking at him with scorn. “Nothing!” she said. “It’s too late.” They went in to dinner. It was fortunate that Grandfather was hungry; he did not, it seems, notice Philip’s absence. “Very nice to see you down, Father,” Mrs. Trenchard said pleasantly. “Very nice for us all.” “Thank ye, my dear. Very agreeable—very agreeable. Quite myself this evening. That rheumatism passed away, so I said to Rocket, ‘Well, ’pon my word, Rocket, I think I’ll come down to-night’ Livelier for us all to be together. Hope Katie isn’t ill, though?” “No—no—nothing at all.” “I saw her this morning. She seemed quite well.” “A little headache, Father dear. She thought she was better by herself.” “Dear Katie—never do to have her ill. Well, George. What’s the matter with ’ee? Looking quite hipped. Dig your father in the ribs, Millie, my dear, and cheer him up a bit.”