His wife answers without lowering her eyes. ‘Did you speak, John? I am listening.’ ‘Yes, I was telling you that the Hidden Hand has at last been discovered in a tub in Russell Square.’ ‘I hear, John. How thoughtful.’ ‘And so they must have been made of margarine, my love.’ ‘I shouldn’t wonder, John.’ ‘Hence the name Petrograd.’ ‘Oh, was that the reason?’ ‘You will be pleased to hear, Ellen, that the honourable gentleman then resumed his seat.’ ‘That was nice of him.’ ‘As I,’ good-naturedly, ‘now resume mine, having made my usual impression.’ ‘Yes, John.’ Emma slips upstairs to peep through a keyhole, and it strikes her mother that John has been saying something. They are on too good terms to make an apology necessary. She observes blandly, ‘John, I haven’t heard a word you said.’ ‘I’m sure you haven’t, woman.’ ‘I can’t help being like this, John.’ ‘Go on being like yourself, dear.’ ‘Am I foolish?’ ‘Um.’ ‘Oh, but, John, how can you be so calm--with him up there?’ ‘He has been up there a good deal, you know, since we presented him to an astounded world nineteen years ago.’ ‘But he--he is not going to be up there much longer, John.’ She sits on the arm of his chair, so openly to wheedle him that it is not worth his while to smile. Her voice is tremulous; she is a woman who can conceal nothing. ‘You will be nice to him--to-night--won’t you, John?’ Mr. Torrance is a little pained. ‘Do I just begin to-night, Ellen?’ ‘Oh no, no; but I think he is rather--shy of you at times.’ ‘That,’ he says a little wryly, ‘is because he is my son, Ellen.’ ‘Yes--it’s strange; but--yes.’ With a twinkle that is not all humorous, ‘Did it ever strike you, Ellen, that I am a bit--shy of him?’ She is indeed surprised. ‘Of Rogie!’ ‘I suppose it is because I am his father.’ She presumes that this is his sarcasm again, and lets it pass at that. It reminds her of what she wants to say. ‘You are so sarcastic,’ she has never quite got the meaning of this word, ‘to Rogie at times. Boys don’t like that, John.’ ‘Is that so, Ellen?’ ‘Of course I don’t mind your being sarcastic to _me_----’ ‘Much good,’ groaning, ‘my being sarcastic to you! You are so seldom aware of it.’ ‘I am not asking you to be a mother to him, John.’ ‘Thank you, my dear.’ She does not know that he is sarcastic again. ‘I quite understand that a man can’t think all the time about his son as a mother does.’ ‘Can’t he, Ellen? What makes you so sure of that?’ ‘I mean that a boy naturally goes to his mother with his troubles rather than to his father. Rogie tells me everything.’ Mr. Torrance is stung. ‘I daresay he might tell me things he wouldn’t tell you.’ She smiles at this. It is very probably sarcasm.