Robin said nothing. His mind was busy with Mary's speech of the night before; his world lay crumbled about him, and, like Cato, he was finding a certain melancholy satisfaction in its ruins. His thoughts were scarcely with his grandfather; he felt vaguely that there was Death in the house and that its immediate presence was one of the things that had helped to bring his self-content about his ears. But it was of his father that he was thinking, and of a certain morning when he had refused a walk. If he got a chance again! Clare looked wretched. Robin thought that she had never seemed so ill before; there was, for the first time, an air of carelessness about her, as though she had flung on her clothes anyhow--something utterly unlike her. "I am going to speak to Harry this morning," she said. Garrett looked up peevishly. "Scarcely the time, Clare. I should say that it were better for us to wait until--well, afterwards. There is, perhaps, something a little indecent----" "I have considered the matter carefully," interrupted Clare decisively. "This is the best time----" "Oh, well, of course. Only I should have thought that I might have had just a little say in the matter. I was, after all, originally consulted as well as yourself. I saw the girl, and was even, I might venture to suggest, with her for some time. But, of course, a mere man's opinion----" "Oh, don't be absurd, Garrett. It is I that have to ask him--it is pretty obvious that I have every right to choose my own time." "Oh! Please, don't let me interfere--only I should scarcely have thought that this was quite the moment when Harry would be most inclined to listen to you." "If we don't ask him now," she answered, "there's no knowing when we shall have the opportunity. When poor father is gone he will have a great deal to settle and decide; he will have no time for anything at all for months ahead. This morning is our last chance." But she had another thought. Her great desire now was that he should try and fail; that he would fail she was sure. She was eagerly impatient for that day when he must come to them and admit his failure. She looked ahead and fashioned that scene for herself--that scene when Robin should know and confess that his father was only as the rest of them; that their failure was his failure, their incapacity his incapacity--and then the balance would be restored and Robin would see as he had seen before. "Coffee, Robin? It's quite hot still. I saw Dr. Brady just now. He says that there is no change, nor is there likely to be one for some hours. You're looking tired, Robin, old boy. Have you been sleeping on the floor, too?" "No!" He looked up and smiled. "But I was awake a good bit. The house is different somehow, when----"