"Stop!" said Comethup quickly. "I'm afraid you don't quite understand the situation. There is no question of any 'wretched jade,' as you describe her. Brian has merely decided to marry the sweetest and best girl that there is in the world. I don't think you're quite wise to talk in that fashion, and I don't think I'd do it if I were in your place. I've no doubt you'll see Brian again shortly. At the present moment, as he has been, well, let us say compelled to take the money for necessary expenses, perhaps you will allow me to replace what you consider you have lost." "You are very good, my dear nephew; you are always more than generous. Forgive me if I spoke in haste. But consider the position: my son, who is just entering, as I might say, into his kingdom, who has the ball, as it were, at his feet, to marry a girl like this, whom no one knows and who has never been heard of! Why, it's shocking--positively terrible! With his face, and his figure, and his talents he might easily have gone one better than his poor old father, and been snapped up by a duchess. Such things _have_ occurred." "I dare say," said Comethup wearily. "I just--just called here to see you. I only heard a little while ago that Brian had left." "He left a note for me," said Mr. Carlaw, "informing me coolly that he purposed getting married to-morrow, and that, as he wanted money for current expenses, he'd taken what there was, and had no doubt that I should 'fall on my feet.' Fall on my feet, indeed!--a fine expression to use to a father! What did he think was going to become of me?" "I suppose he remembered that I was still in the town," replied Comethup quietly. "When do you return to London?" "Immediately; it is useless for me to stay here. I must discover my erring boy; I can not rest until I have effected a reconciliation with him." Comethup was glad to bring the interview to an end. He left Mr. Robert Carlaw smilingly fingering a cheque, and came out into the cool night air. Even then he did not care to go back to the cottage; he wandered on, stumbling now and then like a man half asleep, and came back presently to the broken gates of the garden in which he had walked so often with her. In the darkness of it he almost fancied that there hovered the white figure of the child he had seen as a boy; he almost thought he heard the piteous, pleading, childish voice calling to him from among the trees. He laid his arms against one of the trees, and rested his head upon them, and remained there in the solitary place for quite a long time. He did not weep; the bitterness of the thing lay too deep for tears. Young though he was, he looked up at the stars that were peeping through the branches, and wondered how he should live and what he should do, and how the world would go on, now that she had left it empty. He took the letter out of his pocket and put it to his lips, for she had written it, and there was some small consolation even in that.