‘No!’ Dick has flung back his head again. Confidentially, ‘Father, I sometimes thought of it, but it rather scared me! I expect that is about how it was with her, too.’ ‘She is very broken about you now.’ Irritated, ‘Oh, hang!’ ‘Would you like her to forget you, Dick?’ ‘Rather not. But she might help a fellow a bit. Hullo!’ What calls forth this exclamation is the little table at which the séance had taken place. The four chairs are still standing round it, as if they were guarding something. ‘Here’s something new, father; this table.’ ‘Yes, it is usually in the drawing-room.’ ‘Of course. I remember.’ Mr. Don sets his teeth. ‘Does that table suggest anything to you, Dick?’ ‘To me? Let me think. Yes, I used to play backgammon on it. What is it doing here?’ ‘Your mother brought it in.’ ‘To play games on? Mother!’ ‘I don’t--know that it was a game, Dick.’ ‘But to play anything! I’m precious glad she can do that. Was Laura playing with her?’ ‘She was helping her.’ ‘Good for Laura.’ He is looking at some slips of paper on the table. ‘Are those pieces of paper used in the game? There is writing on them: “The first letter is H--the second letter is A--the third letter is R.” What does it mean?’ ‘Does it convey no meaning to you, Dick?’ ‘To me? No; why should it?’ Mr. Don is enjoying no triumph. ‘Let us go back to the fire, my boy.’ Dick follows him into the ingle-nook. ‘But, why should it convey a meaning to me? I was never much of a hand at indoor games.’ Brightly, ‘I bet you Ockley would be good at it.’ After a joyous rumble, ‘Ockley’s nickname still sticks to him!’ ‘I don’t think I know it.’ ‘He was a frightful swell, you know. Keeper of the field, and played against Harrow the same year. I suppose it did go just a little to his head.’ They are back in their old seats, and Mr. Don leans forward in gleeful anticipation. Probably Dick is leaning forward in the same way, and this old father is merely copying him. ‘What did you nickname him, Dick?’ ‘It was his fags that did it!’ ‘I should like to know it. I say, do tell me, Dick.’ ‘He is pretty touchy about it now, you know.’ ‘I won’t tell any one. Come on, Dick.’ ‘His fags called him K.C.M.G.’ ‘Meaning, meaning, Dick?’ ‘Meaning “Kindly Call Me God!”’ Mr. Don flings back his head; so we know what Dick is doing. They are a hilarious pair, perhaps too noisy, for suddenly Mr. Don looks at the door. ‘I think I heard some one, Dick!’ ‘Perhaps it’s mother!’ ‘She may,’ nervously, ‘have heard the row.’ Dick’s eyes must be twinkling. ‘I say, father, you’ll catch it!’ ‘I can’t believe, Dick,’ gazing wistfully into the chair, ‘that she won’t see you.’