“There’d be less talk of bolshevism, if people knew what they were talking about,” he announced with a bluntness that was in painful contrast to the bishop’s courtly patience. “The government says it doesn’t know what to do; let’s see if any one else does. When folk are starving, they know what to do.” There was a threat in his tone; but he did not explain it, as Sonia came in at this moment and motioned me into the corner by the tea-table. Griffiths, to the credit of his consistency, refused tea: the men whom he represented had been out of work for eleven months; he lived as they lived and, if need be, would starve as they starved. “We’re first on the list for looting, when the revolution comes,” she whispered cheerfully, while he examined her clothes as though he would have liked to strip her. Then, for a moment, she forgot to think of herself. “Oh, George! Babs has just telephoned for you. I’m so sorry, I’m afraid there’s bad news. Your uncle . . .” I stood up; but she pulled me back, as the deputation filed out. “She’s sending the car here; she thinks you ought to go to him at once. If there’s anything we can do . . .” I shook my head. At Bertrand’s age, there was little that any one could do. “Have you told Raney?,” I asked. “I hadn’t a chance. This deputation . . . Oh, David, what did you tell them?” O’Rane dropped into a chair and pressed his fists against his temples: “I said . . . I’d think the thing over. It was really out of politeness to the poor old bishop. Nothing can make any difference.”. . . “Even when everybody tells you you’re wrong? People simply won’t believe it. I had four reporters within half-an-hour.” “I don’t know what they want to worry us for,” he broke out. “What did you tell them?” Sonia weighed each word of her answer before launching it: “I said you hadn’t made up your mind. If you want to shew that you care for me . . .” O’Rane walked to her with his hands outstretched in an attitude of entreaty: “If this accursed money had never come to me, you couldn’t have said that.” The attitude of entreaty won no hint of yielding. “Of course, if you _won’t_ be warned . . .” Sonia muttered, as she walked with me to the door. 4 As I got into the car, I was first frightened and then touched to find Barbara sitting half-hidden in her corner. “I’m afraid he’s very bad,” she whispered. “It’s not a stroke this time; but something’s broken inside him and he’s had terrible hæmorrhages. If he has another . . . I’m so sorry, George.” “It was good of you to come.” In the darkness I heard a sigh; and Barbara laid her hand on mine: “We’ve always been good friends, even if we _have_ made rather a mess of our lives.” . . .