Lady Edna moved away haughtily toward the barriers. “I see my porter. Mr. Baltazar, will you kindly put me into a taxi?” “No, he shan’t. You shall go in my car.” Baltazar, in a cold fury, stood over him threateningly. “You stay here,” said he, “or by the living God I’ll half kill you!” He caught up Lady Edna and followed with her in the wake of the porter. She said: “I owe you a debt of gratitude which I can’t ever repay.” He felt merciless towards her, murderous. “You let that boy alone, do you hear? You’ve come within a hair’s-breadth of blasting his life. It remains yet to be seen whether that hair’s-breadth will save him——” “I’d do anything in my power——” she began. “For God’s sake stop doing things. Hold your tongue. You’ve been criminal in your piling folly on folly. You’ve done enough.” “But you——?” “I can take care of myself—and the boy, if you keep quiet. You’ve got to remember the position. I’m your lover. Avowed before your husband by both of us—you implicitly. You’re not to lose sight of that fact. Understand? If you hold any communication with Godfrey, you’ll get him court-martialled. Disgraced, probably imprisoned. And then, by God! I won’t have any pity on you.” Talking thus they reached the outer platform of the station and waited while the porter secured a taxi. She whispered, for they were brushed by the throng of passengers arriving and departing: “If Edgar brings a divorce action——? He’s vindictive——” “He’ll bring no action, if you stop playing the fool. I’d advise you not to interfere with my game.” The porter swung from the step of the taxi bringing a new arrival, and as soon as the latter, a young officer with a suit-case, had alighted and paid his fare, he piled in Lady Edna’s belongings. She entered the cab very white and scared. Godfrey had told her enough about his father for her to realize the unyielding nature of the man. She was terrified, cowed. He blazed before her irresistibly elemental. . . . She carried away with her a blurred impression of his thatch of brown hair coarse and strong like the crown of some relentless beast as he lifted his hat when the taxi drove off. She shuddered, and hated him. * * * * * Baltazar let himself into the house in Sussex Gardens, and went straight to Godfrey’s room. He found him writing hard. When the young man sprang up, his quiet eye noted the desk strewn with many sheets of notepaper. “Writing to her, I suppose.” “It’s not altogether unnatural,” Godfrey replied in stiff hostility. “Where are you going to address it?” Godfrey, looking into the infernal eyes, saw that it was not an idle and impertinent question. Besides, he had spent a very agitated hour, gnawed by bitter disappointment and impotent anger and torturing his brain with conjecture as to what had happened. “Where is Lady Edna, sir?” he asked. “She has gone to stay with Lady Ralston.” “Her mother?”