*III* "Halloa, Hugh! Got back, have you?" The words greeted Massingham as he strolled through the club smoking-room in search of a seat, and with a start he looked at the speaker. So engrossed had he been in his own thoughts that he had failed to notice his brother-in-law, John Ferrers, till he was right on top of him. "Yes, John—back," he said, slowly. "Back to-day—after four years." Ferrers grunted and leaned over to pull up a chair. Something wrong—quite obviously. A man doesn’t come to his club on the first evening home after four years, under normal circumstances. "Have a drink!" Ferrers beckoned a waiter and gave the order. "How do you think Delia is looking?" "Very well," said Hugh, quietly. "Very well indeed. She has gone off to a place called Hector’s to-night." Ferrers paused in the act of lighting his pipe, and looked at him in mild amazement. "Delia gone to Hector’s to-night! What the devil has she done that for?" "A gentleman of the name of Staunton—Jimmy Staunton—arrived in his glad rags after dinner," remarked Hugh. "She went to Hector’s with him—I came here." "Young Staunton!" muttered Ferrers. "I didn’t know——" He looked quickly at Hugh; then he resumed lighting his pipe. "If I were you, Hugh—of course I know it’s not my business—but if I were you I wouldn’t let Delia go about too much with young Staunton. He’s a—well, he’s a useless young puppy to begin with, and his reputation is nothing to write home about in addition." "Ah! is that so?" Hugh lay back in his chair and stared at his brother-in-law. "I had already classed him as a puppy; but I didn’t think he was big enough to have a reputation of any kind—good or bad." "My dear fellow—he’s young, he’s good-looking, and he’s sufficiently well off to be able to do nothing. Also I believe he dances perfectly. Whether it’s those assets, or whether it’s something which the vulgar masculine eye is unable to appreciate, I can’t tell you. But I do know this: that three ordinary, decent, sensible young married women of my acquaintance have made the most infernal fools of themselves over that youth." John Ferrers shook his head. "I’m hanged if I know what it is. It must be the war or something. But a lot of these girls seem to have gone completely off the rails." He sighed ponderously; he was a good-hearted individual, was John Ferrers, but anything which deviated from his idea of the normal generally called forth a mild outburst. Also he was very fond of his sister.