Always when he emerged, ashy grey, blinking, neat, and his little, burnt-out eyes tragic with the hell they had looked upon, John Cleland spoke to him as though nothing had happened to interrupt the routine of service. The threads were picked up and knotted where they had been broken; life continued in its accustomed order under the Cleland roof. The master would not abandon the man; the man continued to fight a losing fight until beaten, then locked himself away until the enemy gave his broken body and broken mind a few weeks’ respite. Otherwise, the master’s faith and trust in this old-time servant was infinite. "Meacham?" "Sir." "I think—Mrs. Cleland—would have approved. Janet thinks so." "Yes, sir." "You think so, too?" "Certainly, sir. Whatever you wished was madame’s wish also." "Master James is so much away these days.... I suppose I am getting old, and——" He suffered Meacham to invest him with his coat, lifted the lapel and sniffed at the blossom there, squared his broad shoulders, twisted his white moustache. There was no more attractive figure on Fifth Avenue than Cleland Senior with the bright colour in his cheeks, his vigorous stride and his attire, so suitable to his fresh skin, sturdy years and bearing. Meacham’s eyes were lifted to his master, now. They were of the same age. "Will you wear a black overcoat or a grey, sir?" "I don’t care. I’m going up to the nursery first. The nursery," he repeated, with a secret thrill at the word, which made him tingle all over in sheerest happiness. "The car, sir?" "First," said Cleland, "I must find out what Miss Stephanie wishes—or rather, I must decide what I wish her to do. Telephone the garage, anyway." There was a silence; Cleland had walked a step or two toward the door. Now, he came back. "Meacham, I hope I have done what was best. On her father’s side there was good blood; on her mother’s, physical health.... I know what the risk is. But character is born in the cradle and lowered into the grave. The world merely develops, modifies, or cripples it. But it is the same character.... I’ve taken the chance—the tremendous responsibility.... It isn’t a sudden fancy—an idle caprice;—it isn’t for the amusement of making a fine lady out of a Cinderella. I want—a—baby, Meacham. I’ve been in love with an imaginary child for a long, long time. Now, she’s become real. That’s all." "I understand, sir." "Yes, you do understand. So I ask you to tell me; have I been fair to Mr. James?" "I think so, sir." "Will _he_ think so? I have not told him of this affair." "Yes, sir. He will think what madame would have thought of anything that you do." He added under his breath: "As we all think, sir." There was a pause, broken abruptly by the sudden quavering appeal of Janet at the door once more: "Mr. Cleland! Th’ young lady is all over the house, sor! In her pajaymis and naked feet, running wild-like and ondacent——" Cleland stepped to the door: