The directness of the question allowed of no evasion. Stephen flushed as he answered. "They play bridge. I may be asked to join. It--is a sort of whist, you know." "So I understand," the older man remarked. "I have no remark to make concerning that. Manners change, I suppose, with the generations. You are young and I am old. I have never sought to impose my prejudices upon you. You have seen more of the world than I ever did. Perhaps you have found wisdom there." Stephen was not at his ease. "I don't know about that, sir," he answered. "Of course, Sunday isn't kept so strictly as it used to be. I like a quiet day myself, but it's pretty dull here usually, and I didn't think it would be wise to refuse an invitation from Miss Thorpe-Hatton." "Perhaps not," Mr. Hurd answered. "On the other hand, I might remind you that during the forty years during which I have been agent to this estate I have never accepted--beyond a glass of wine--the hospitality offered to me by Miss Thorpe-Hatton's father and grandfather, and by the young lady herself. It is not according to my idea of the fitness of things. I am a servant of the owner of these estates. I prefer to discharge my duties honestly and capably--as a servant." Stephen frowned at his reflection in the glass. He did not feel in the least like a servant. "That's rather an old-fashioned view, dad," he declared. "It may be," his father answered. "In any case, I do not seek to impose it upon you. You are free to come and go according to your judgment. But you are young, and I cannot see you expose yourself to trouble without some warning. Miss Thorpe-Hatton is not a lady whom it is wise for you to see too much of." The directness of this speech took the young man aback. "I--she seems very pleasant and gracious," he faltered. "Not even to you," his father continued gravely, "can I betray the knowledge of such things as have come under my notice as the servant of these estates and this young lady. Her father was a fine, self-respecting gentleman, as all the Thorpe-Hattons have been; her mother came from a noble, but degenerate, French family. I, who live here a life without change, who mark time for the years and watch the striplings become old men, see many things, and see them truthfully. The evil seed of her mother's family is in this young woman's blood. She lives without a chaperon, without companionship, as she pleases--and to please herself only." Stephen frowned irritably. His father's cold, measured words were like drops of ice. "But, father," he protested, "she is a leader of Society, she goes to Court and you see her name at the very best places. If there was anything wrong about her, she wouldn't be received like that."