He saw his mother enter and paid no heed to her. He was too much occupied. A troubled look crossed his face, and clouded it. Then he was very sick. That amused Alf. His mother shut the kitchen-door. But Alf was not to be defrauded of his spectacle. He opened the door quietly. His mother, busy on her knees, with a slop pail and cloth, looked up. "It's only me, mum," muttered Alf. Her face frightened him: so did her breathing: so did her quiet. "Come in then," she said. "And shut the door." Ern still sat at the table. "You little og!" said Alf fiercely, and shook his brother. His mother, still on her hands and knees, restrained him. "Let him be," she said. "It's past that. It's past all." The door opened slowly. Mr. Caspar stood in it in the faded quilted dressing-gown that had once graced historic rooms at Trinity. He stood there, dishevelled from sleep, a tall, round-shouldered ruin of a man, every sign of distress upon his face. "What is it?" he asked nervously. "Im!" said Alf. Mr. Caspar saw Ern, and marked his wife busy on her knees. Then he understood. The distress on his face deepened. Anne Caspar rose sharply from her knees, the filthy rag still in her hands. "Two of you!" she cried thickly. "It's too much!" and shoved him out of the room. The father's slippered feet shuffled along the passage. "Take your brother up to bed," ordered Mrs. Caspar. Alf, too discreet to argue, obeyed. Anne Caspar locked the door, and sat down at the table. CHAPTER XV MR. TRUPP INTRODUCES THE LASH There was no doubt that Anne Caspar was a woman of character. "Too much character," said Mr. Trupp. His wife was somewhat shocked. "Can you have too much character?" she asked. Her husband was in one of his philosophical moods. "Character's only will," he growled. "It's the repression or direction of energy. You may misdirect your energies. Most so-called strong men do. Look at this fellow Chamberlain. Willed us into this war. If it hadn't been for his superfluous character we should never have heard of South Africa." "And your investments would never have gone down," said Mrs. Trupp delicately. The Doctor may have been unjust to the Colonial Secretary, but he was right about Anne Caspar, whom he knew rather better. That dour woman had, indeed, just two friends in Beachbourne. One was Mr. Trupp, and the other was Mr. Trupp's wife. Neither had ever failed her; and she knew quite well that neither ever would. The day after the calamity she went round to see the Doctor.