"I am afraid Bolster will get into trouble," said Mr. Perry calmly. "I should not mix myself up with it, Edward, if I were you. We must go on quietly in our own way, without setting class against class. The methods of anarchy are not for such as us. My dear, another cup of tea, if you please." Edward choked down his emotion, and succeeded in making a fair breakfast. But I thought that in this matter he did not see eye to eye with his father. In his opinion the time for anarchy _had_ come, and he was nerving himself to take a more prominent part in the struggle he saw coming than the more cautious and experienced Mr. Perry would approve of. However, he gave us no hint of any intentions he may have formed while we were together, and directly he had finished his meal left the room. CHAPTER XXII I followed Edward as soon as I could, for I had a crow of my own to pick with him. But I found him quite unable to discuss anything but the startling and courageous behaviour of his friend, Mr. Bolster. He was going to his house at once, and I said that I would go with him. Mr. Bolster lived in a large house not far from Magnolia Hall, and as we walked there I insisted upon Edward listening to my complaint. "Well, what do you want me to do?" he asked impatiently. "You don't know where you come from, and I don't know either. My explanation is almost certainly the right one, and you _must_ have some explanation of yourself ready. What are you complaining about?" "I'm complaining of your having told Miriam that I am an escaped lunatic." "My dear fellow, I'm pretty certain she suspected it. It was the nonsense you talked to her when you first came that made me tell her the truth. Now that she has the explanation she doesn't mind. No sensible girl would. She knows you are all right at present, and she'll see that you don't go wrong again." I had to leave it at that. There was no satisfaction to be got out of the officious Edward. Mr. Bolster's house was a pretentious building in the Italianate Gothic style, with Byzantine and other features. It stood in an extremely ugly garden, with asphalt paths, and stretches of grass cut up into beds of the shape of crescents, triangles, starfishes, Prince of Wales' feathers, interrogation marks, all elaborately planted to imitate carpets or rugs of the worst possible design. Wherever there was room for it, there was a large glass-house, and apparently Mr. Bolster had employed some of the hours of his self-imposed incarceration in throwing things at them; for there was hardly a pane within range that was left intact, and the ground about them was littered with lumps of coal and with the smaller articles of household furnishing, with which he, and possibly Mrs. Bolster, had missed their aim. The things with which they had been more fortunate were inside the glass-houses, which presented a picture of destruction that showed the seriousness of the battle now being waged.