“I know. That’s why I wrote to you in some diffidence. I had no idea how you regarded your father’s memory. I hope you appreciate my feeling that I might be treading on delicate ground.” Godfrey waved an indulgent hand. “Oh, that’s all right, sir. My father was a distinguished and romantic person, and I’m rather interested in him than otherwise.” Baltazar drew a great breath of relief. At any rate he was not execrated by the paragon of sons. “I see,” said he, his features relaxing, for the first time, into a smile. “Like any other ancestor, he’s part of your family history.” “Something of the sort. Only perhaps a bit nearer.” “How nearer?” “People live who knew him in the flesh. You, for instance.” “Yes,” said Baltazar. “I knew him intimately. We were undergraduates and dons together. I left Cambridge about the same time as he did—when my fellowship lapsed. I went away to the Far East, where I’ve spent my life. I’m just back, you know. Instinct took me to Cambridge, a sort of Rip van Winkle, to see if there were any remains of old friends—and my visit to you is the result of my enquiries.” “When you wrote to me, I wondered whether you could tell me if my father was alive or dead.” Baltazar made a little gesture. “_Quien sabe?_ From what I remember of John Baltazar he was not a man to let himself die easily. He was the most obstinate mule I ever came across. Death would have had a trying time with him. Besides, he was as tough as a rhinoceros.” “So he still may be in the land of the living?” “As far as I know.” Baltazar leaned forward on his chair. “You have no feeling of resentment against him?” “One can’t feel resentment against a shadow,” replied Godfrey. “Suppose he reappeared, what would be your attitude towards him?” Godfrey frowned at the touch of impertinence in the question which probed too deeply. He glanced distrustfully at his visitor. “I’m afraid I’ve never considered the point,” he replied frostily. “Have you any special reason for putting it to me?” Baltazar winced. “Only as a student of psychology. But I see you would rather continue to regard him as a legendary character?” “Quite,” said Godfrey. “You must forgive me, Mr. Baltazar,” said the father, with a smile. “I’m half orientalized and only beginning to attune myself to Western habits of thought. I lived for so many years in the interior of China that I almost lost the Western point of view. Well, there the basis of all religious and philosophic systems is filial piety. The whole moral and political system of the Empire has been reared on it for thousands of years. If you were a Chinaman, you would venerate your father, no matter what grievances you might have against him or how shadowy and legendary he might be.” “But I’m not a Chinaman,” said Godfrey.