Mostyn glanced at the clock upon his mantel-piece and realised that it was after seven o'clock. At eight the family would meet for dinner: well, they would not have his company, neither to-night nor ever again. He decided that he would leave the house at once, taking with him only a small hand-bag; later on he would send for the rest of his belongings. Cicely would see that they were packed and delivered to him. It was lucky, he reflected, that he was not quite penniless--that he had, in fact, a sum that could not be much under a hundred pounds lying to his credit at the bank, a sum that he had saved out of his not ungenerous allowance; this would do to tide over temporary difficulties, at any rate. With feverish hands he began to pack, hoping that he would be able to leave before the dinner hour. He would have liked a word with Cicely; but as for his brothers, he trusted not to meet them. He had kept his temper under control in the presence of his father, but it would be different with James and Charles; with them he might express himself in a manner that he would afterwards repent. "The mean sneaks," he muttered to himself; "and Charles, who is so fond of talking about his honour! I am glad to have done with Charles." There was nothing that he regretted. He could not even feel that he was deserting Cicely. Before very long she would be married to Pierce Trelawny and then she, too, would be free. As he thought of her, the girl herself burst into his room. Her eyes were tear-stained, and her fair hair was dishevelled. She stood still, breathing hard and staring at Mostyn, who was now struggling with the straps of his dressing-case. "I've told them what I think of them!" she panted, following the train of her original thought. "It was Charles who gave you away, Mostyn. He went straight up to father and told him that you were at the Derby--the sneak!" "It didn't matter," Mostyn said, glancing over his shoulder; "the result would have been just the same." "What are you doing, Mostyn?" Her eyes--they were gentle eyes of china-blue--were round with horror. "Father is still in his study. He hasn't come out, though the dressing-gong has sounded. I heard him tramping about as I passed; was he furiously angry?" Then again, as Mostyn had not yet replied to her first question, she asked, "What are you doing?"