He pitched away the stub of his unfinished cigarette as though with it he could rid himself of some of his feeling. “Of course there was friction—I’m putting it mildly—but there was no open row. My mother’s not in good health and I couldn’t afford to have her worried over my affairs. So we settled down to some sort of armed neutrality, although the thing’s more or less evident to most people. That’s what I meant when I said I might be kicked out any day. It’s only a question of time, it seems to me. He still thinks that if I were out of the way he’d have a chance with Una; and sooner or later I expect him to give me an express-ticket into the wide world. I’m trying to get some sort of job; but so far I haven’t succeeded in lighting on anything that seems to offer the slightest prospects. It’s no pleasure to stay here on sufferance, I can tell you.” Now that Sir Clinton had received Cecil’s unsolicited confidences, he hardly knew what to do with them. After all, he reflected, he had heard only one side of the story; and it was scarcely fair to judge the case on the strength of an _ex-parte_ statement. It was not quite the Ravensthorpe which he had expected, he admitted ruefully to himself as he bent his efforts to bringing Cecil back to normal again. Money and a girl: the two things that seemed to lie behind most troubles—and even crimes, as he knew from experience. It seemed an unkind Fate that had forced these two factors to the front in an environment where trouble of the kind was the last that might have been expected. One never knew what this sort of thing might lead to in the end. “I’d like to have a look at your father’s collections some time or other,” he said at last, to change the subject, when he had succeeded in getting Cecil into a somewhat cooler frame of mind. “I saw a good many of the things in London from time to time, as he bought them; but there must be a lot here at Ravensthorpe that will be new to me. Anything your father bought will be worth looking at. He had wonderful taste.” Rather to his vexation, Sir Clinton found that he had only shifted the conversation from one sore point to another. “If you want to see anything,” Cecil snapped, “you’d better pay your visit as soon as you can arrange it. Maurice is going to sell the lot.” Sir Clinton was completely taken aback by this news. “Sell the stuff? What on earth would he want to do that for? He’s got all the money he needs, surely.” Cecil dissociated himself from any connection with the matter. “No business of mine, now. Maurice can do as he likes. Of course, I hate the idea of all these things of my father’s being sold off when there seems no need for it; but it’s not my affair. The Maurice boy isn’t all we thought him; and since he’s come into Ravensthorpe, he seems to think of very little else but money and how to get more of it. Anything for the dibs, it appears.”