"Then what in heaven's name is it?" said Mr. Trevannion, bringing his hand down violently on the table beside which they were sitting. "Can you get it out of him, if you can do nothing else for us, Philip? It is our right to know; it is--it is due to my child, it is----" he stopped, his face working with emotion. "He won't see her, you know," he added disconnectedly. "I will try," said Philip. "It is indeed the least I can do. If--if I could get him to see her--Daisy; surely that would be the best chance." Mr. Trevannion looked at him sharply, scrutinisingly. "You--you are satisfied then--entirely satisfied that there is nothing we need dread her being mixed up in, so to say? Nothing wrong--nothing to shock a girl like her? You see," half apologetically, "his refusing to see her makes one afraid----" "I am as sure of him as of myself--surer," said Philip earnestly. "There is nothing in his past to explain it--nothing." "An early secret marriage; a wife he thought dead turning up again," suggested the father. "It sounds absurd, sensational--but after all--there must be some reason." "Not that," said Keir, getting up as he spoke. "Well then, I will see him first thing in the morning, and communicate with you as soon as possible after I have done so. You will tell Mrs. Trevannion and--and Daisy that I will do my best?" "My wife is still in the drawing-room. Will you not see her to-night?" Philip shook his head. "It is late," he said, "and I am dusty and unpresentable. Besides, there is really nothing to say. To-morrow it shall be as you all think best. I will see Mrs. Trevannion--and Daisy," here he flushed a little, but his host did not observe it, "if you like and if she wishes it. Heaven send I may have better news than I expect." And with a warm pressure of his old friend's hand, Mr. Keir left him. The two younger men met the next morning. There was no difficulty about it, for Lingard, knowing by instinct that the interview must take place, had determined to face it. So of the two he was the more prepared, the more forearmed. The conversation was long--an hour, two hours passed before poor Philip could make up his mind to accept the ultimatum contained in the few hard words with which Arthur Lingard first greeted him. "I know what you have come about. I knew you must come. You could not help yourself. But, Philip, it will save you pain--I don't mind for myself; nothing can matter now--if you will at once take my word for it that nothing you can say will do the least shadow of good. No, don't shake hands with me. I would rather you didn't." And he put his right arm behind his back and stood there, leaning against the mantelpiece, facing his friend. Philip looked up at him grimly. "No," he said, "I've given my word to--to these poor dear people, and I'll stick to it. You've got to make up your mind to a cross-examination, Lingard."