“Lot of light literature,” remarked Baltazar, motioning to the periodicals. “Quite a debauch,” said Godfrey. Baltazar’s quick eyes picked out the board by the Southampton platform. “Your train, I see, goes at 5.45. You’re a bit early.” “Yes, sir. It’s such a long time till the train starts that I couldn’t think of asking you to wait.” “That doesn’t matter a bit, my dear boy. Time is no object.” “I’m very sorry to be rude, sir—but as a matter of fact I have an appointment,” said Godfrey desperately. “An important appointment.” “Oh!” said Baltazar. “And, if you don’t mind, I must wait outside the station. Quong Ho is bringing my suit-case. I shouldn’t like to miss him.” He made a step forward, but an ironic glitter in his father’s searching eyes arrested the movement. “Quong Ho isn’t bringing your suit-case. I’ve come instead.” Godfrey drew himself up haughtily. “I don’t understand. Have you been kind enough to bring my luggage?” “No,” replied Baltazar calmly. “It’s on the floor of the dining-room.” “Your interference with my arrangements, sir, is unwarrantable,” said the boy, pale with anger. “Possibly. Unless we adopt the Jesuitical principle of the end justifying the means.” “And what is the end, might I ask?” “To prevent you from making an infernal fool of yourself.” The young man regarded him inimically. Baltazar felt a throb of pride in his attitude. A lad of spirit. “I suppose Marcelle came straight to you with my confidence. In giving it to her I made a fool of myself, I admit. As for what I propose to do, I fail to see that it’s any concern of yours.” Baltazar’s heart yearned over the boy. He said in a softened tone: “It is ruin to your career and a mess up of your whole life. And your future means so much to me that I’d sacrifice anything—honour, decency, even your affection which I thought I had gained—to see you off at any rate to France with a clean sheet.” But Godfrey in cold wrath did not heed the pleading note. He had been betrayed and tricked. Only his soldier’s training kept him outwardly calm. To the casual glances of the preoccupied crowd passing by them nothing in the demeanour of either man gave occasion for special interest. They stood, too, in a little islet of space apart from the general stream of traffic. Baltazar went on with his parable. He had not the heart to hint his projected gibe at the unromantic lack of tooth-brushes. Things ran too deep. “I admit none of your arguments,” said Godfrey at last. “Besides, I am my own master. I owe you a debt for many kindnesses; your affection—I don’t undervalue it. But there things end. After all, we met a year ago as strangers. I’ve run my life as I chose, and I mean to run it as I choose. I expect Lady Edna to arrive at any minute. In common delicacy I must ask you to let me go my own ways.” “All right, go,” said Baltazar. “But I’ll go with you.” Godfrey’s eyes flamed. “You wouldn’t dare!”