“You never did anything but humiliate me by reminding me that I was on a lower level. Your gifts were always bitter because they were given without kindness, to get rid of me or in self-defence; and, in return, I was expected to admire you. Oh, you hard good man! You couldn't make me clever just by saying to me, 'Be clever,' or good just by saying, 'Be good'------ You say I lied to you. Of course I lied--lied as a child will to escape punishment. You never understood me. Even before I went crooked you were ashamed of me because I hadn't the brains to think your thoughts and to speak your language. Your intellect despised me. Yes, and you taught my wife to despise me. Didn't you call me an 'ass' before company on the very night I became engaged to her. She remembered that and took her tone from you. You were her standard. From the first she was discontented with me because I wasn't you and couldn't give her the home you'd given Nan---- So I tried to be rich, because to be rich is to be clever. I gambled with what didn't belong to me to get money to buy my wife's respect. And now, because _you, you, you_ were always there setting the pace for me with your success, I've lost everything. But if I'd won by my sharp-practise, you and Jehane would have been the first to say that I was a clever chap--I wasn't born bad. What you and my wife have thought about me has made me what I am. Damn you. I wouldn't touch a farthing of your charity now. I want to go to the dogs where both of you've sent me and to make as big a scandal as I can.” He was trembling with hysteric anger; his voice was thick and hoarse with passion. His weak and genial features were absurdly in contrast with the violence of what he said. His soaped mustaches and white spats made him a comic figure at any time, but doubly comic in the rôle of an accusing prophet. Barrington eyed him quietly without the quiver of a muscle or the flicker of a lash. He had hardened his heart beforehand against the appeal of such a theatric outburst. “Is that all?” Ocky hung his head; the fire of his self-pity was quenched by the restrained ridicule of the man who addressed him. He wiped the perspiration from his eyes with his tired hands. “That's all.” As he was passing into the hall, Peter looked over the banisters and saw him. “Kay. Kay. Here's dear old uncle,” he called and commenced running down the stairs. At the landing his father stopped him. “Not to-night, my boy.” Peter laughed and tried to wriggle past him; but his father held him firmly, saying, “I meant what I said.” Looking down, Peter saw the face of his friend glance back at him; it was lined and tortured. Then the front door closed with a bang. Barrington re-entered his study. Now that he had accomplished the difficult cruelty his mind was in doubt. If Peter loved Ocky, there must be some good left in him----