"I believe you, sir." He lifted his face with a frankness the curate thought beautiful. "Of course I ain't told you all I know about our Ern," he said. "After all, he _is_ me own brother. And, as I often says, blood is thickerer nor what water is." It was some months later that Alf swaggered into his mother's kitchen late one night. The knowing look upon his face was mingled with one of obvious relief. He sat down before the fire and smiled secretively. Once he sighed, and then chuckled till his mother's attention was attracted. "What is it?" she asked. Alf nodded his great head. "Ah," he said. "He'll be easier now, you'll see. That's all. _She's_ left." His mother, who was stirring something in a saucepan, looked up. "Who's left?" "Her Ern got into trouble with." Anne Caspar ceased to stir. "What's that?" she asked sharply. Alf smirked as he stared into the fire. "One of the flash-girls from the Hotel. I see her off to-day for Mr. Trupp." Anne Caspar was breathing deep. "Was Mr. Trupp seeing to her?" "That's it," said Alf. "Sea View. You know." Yes, Anne Caspar knew all about Sea View. "Was that why Ernie left the Hotel?" she asked at last, white as a sword. "Ah," said Alf, significantly. "It was one why, I reck'n." Anne Caspar was not critical nor logical nor even just. Next Saturday, when Ern called to take his father out, his mother met him with terrible hostility. "She won't come on you now," she said with a white sneer. "You needn't worry no more." Ernie was taken aback. "Who won't come on me?" he asked. "That girl you got into trouble." Ern turned ghastly. His mother's eyes held his face with cruel tenacity, although she was trembling. "She's gone away to London," Anne continued,--"with her child." Ernie threw back his head with a little hoary smile. "Ah," he said, "Alf," and went out slowly. His mother's voice pursued him, dreadful in its caressing cruelty. "I shan't tell dad," she said. It was not often Ernie drew his sword. Now he knew no mercy. "You can," he retorted. "He won't believe you." CHAPTER XLVIII TWO MEETINGS After thirty years of following the wagon, Colonel Lewknor and his wife had returned home from India on a pittance of a pension. There was a grandson now, and that grandson had to be sent to Eton like his father and his grandfather before him. Mrs. Lewknor was determined upon that. But the grandson's father was only a Captain in the Indian Army; ways and means had to be found; and openings are not many in modern life for a retired couple on the wrong side of fifty. Then the Colonel's health became uncertain, and he was sent down to Trupp of Beachbourne. While there Mrs. Lewknor caught influenza, and Mr. Trupp attended both. A delightful intimacy sprang up between the three. The Colonel's sardonic humour and detached outlook upon life appealed to the great surgeon almost as much as did Mrs. Lewknor's experience and width of view to his wife.