They turned up the road to her house, and she began to relent when she saw that he was not angry. "No," he said, nodding his head slowly, "I expect you're about right, Mary. Things have been happening lately that have made everything different--I've been thinking ... I see my father differently...." Then, "How could you?" she cried. "_You_ to cut him and turn him out? Oh! Robin! you weren't always that sort----" "No," he answered. "I wasn't once. In Germany I was different--when I got away from things--but it's harder here"--and then again slowly--"But am I really as bad as that, Mary?" Sudden compunction seized her. What right had she to speak to him? After all, he was only a boy, and she was every bit as bad herself. "Oh! I don't know!" she said wearily. "I'm all out of sorts to-night, Robin. We're neither of us fit to speak to him, and you've treated him badly, all of you--I oughtn't to have spoken as I did, perhaps; but here we are! You'd better forget it, and another day I'll tell you some of the nice things about you----" "Am I that sort of chap?" he said again, staring in front of him with his hand on the gate. She said good-night and left him standing in the road. He turned up the hill, with his head bent. He was scarcely surprised and not at all angry. It only seemed the climax to so many things that had happened lately--"a snob"--"a pretty poor thing"--"You don't work, you learn to choose your waistcoat-buttons"--that was the kind of chap he was. And his father: "One of the finest men there is----" He'd missed his chance, perhaps, he would never get it again! But he would try! He passed into the garden and fumbled for his latch-key. He would speak to his father to-morrow! Mary was quite right ... he _was_ a "pretty poor thing!" CHAPTER XIV That night was never forgotten by any one at "The Flutes." Down in the servants' hall they prolonged their departure for bed to a very late hour, and then crept, timorously, to their rooms; they were extravagant with the electric light, and dared Benham's anger in order to secure a little respite from terrible darkness. Stories were recalled of Sir Jeremy's kindness and good nature, and much speculation was indulged in as to his successor--the cook recalled her early youth and an engagement with a soldier that aroused such sympathy in her hearers that she fraternised, unexpectedly, with Clare's maid--a girl who had formerly been considered "haughty," but was now found to be agreeable and pleasant.