I

She sat very silently, the way he had seen men sit when they were wounded.  She had been expecting the blow and trying to postpone it; now that it had fallen her only feeling was one of peace because the expecting was ended.  Her face remained turned towards him, as it had been while he had been talking.  As though a mask had dropped, the real, very tired, very young, very lonely Maisie watched him.  The wistfulness of her beauty surprised and touched him.  Several times her lips moved in an attempt to say something.  Then, at last, “What right have you to ask?”

“I should like to claim the right of friendship.”

“Of friendship!” She frowned slightly, peering from beneath the lamp in an effort to make out his features.  Then her eyes cleared and she smiled.  “If you don’t mean it, please don’t say it.  You see, it would hurt afterwards.  And and I should like to have you for my friend.”

He came over from the fireplace and seated himself beside her.  “We’ve been almost enemies just a little afraid of each other.  Isn’t that so?  It’s ever so much more comfortable now; we’ll be able to talk more easily.  Tell me honestly, what do you see in Adair?”

“See in him!”

She commenced sipping her coffee.  She looked extraordinarily like Terry used to do years ago, when she was a little lass and had been naughty, and had come reluctantly to ask pardon.  He thought that if he went on talking he might make it easier for her.

“You’ll wonder why I, who never knew you until to-day, should have taken upon myself to broach this subject.”

“I don’t wonder,” she headed him off.  “I know.  Terry’s my friend.  Her father was determined to send somebody, so she worked things in order that you might be sent.  She thought that you would be the kindest person.”

“She thought that!” Tabs was a little taken back by her assertion; it seemed to pledge him to kindness before he had learnt whether kindness was required or deserved.  It made him in a sense her partisan, when he ought to have been impartial.

“I think I can be trusted to be kind,” he said; “but you must remember that I’ve got to be kind all round.  I must be kind to Adair’s wife and to his children.  If this goes much further it will spell tragedy for them.”

She shrugged her shoulders and laughed without mirth.  “Adair’s wife should have remembered to be kind to herself.  If a woman can’t keep her husband, she never deserved to have won him.  And Adair he’s the easiest man to keep in the world; far too easy to be exciting.  If she doesn’t lose him to me, she’ll lose him to some one else, unless ” And then she surprised him, “But she won’t lose him to me, for I don’t want him.”

Tabs sighed with relief and lit himself a cigarette.  “Then that’s settled.  If you don’t want him, the trouble’s ended, and I think Sir Tobias and all of us owe you an apology.”

Again she laughed.  This time some of her old mischief had come back.  “You go too fast, Lord Taborley.  I shouldn’t advise any of you to apologize to me yet.  It’s true that I don’t want him for keeps, but ”

Tabs guessed the way the ground lay and went back to the question with which he had started.  “What on earth do you see in him?  That’s what I can’t make out.”

She kept him waiting for his answer.  While he waited, like sunshine struggling through cloud, amused happiness fought its way into her expression.  When she turned, she met his gaze with complete candor.  She was again a woman of the world.  “What do I see in him?  Not much only a makeshift, a second best.  Only a man who needs me for the moment because he’s lost his direction.  You remember our conversation of this afternoon about having to feel that you were needed.  He gives me that feeling, so I’m grateful.  That’s why I have to have him.”

“Are you so lonely as to stoop well, to steal to get it?”

He was sorry he had asked it.  She bit her lip in an effort to keep back the tears and to force herself to go on brightly smiling.  “Yes, as lonely as all that,” she nodded; “so lonely that it’s almost a joke.”

“No joke.”  He was at a loss what to say.  “But you have friends.  You go everywhere.  You ”

“Friends!” she interrupted, laughing with the high-pitched note of breaking nerves.  “What are friends?  People to whom you say, ’How d’you do?’ here and ‘How d’you do?’ there, every one of whom can do without you.  I want some one who can’t do without me for a second No joke, you said.  But it is almost a joke to be young, and eager, and good-looking, and to know how to dress, and to be so willing to love, and to live in the world just once, and to hear the world go by you laughing, and to desire so much,” she paused for breath, “and to want to give so much that no one is willing to accept.  If one didn’t laugh over it, it would be more than one could stand.  If one didn’t treat it as a joke ”

He caught her hands.  “Steady, Mrs. Lockwood.  Stop laughing at once.  There’s nothing to laugh about.  You’re nearly over the edge.”

She stared at him with wide eyes, filled with panic, while little ripples of laughter kept escaping from her, which she did her best to suppress.

“Now, listen to me,” he continued quietly:  “You’re not exceptional.  You’ve been expressing something that there’s not a man or woman that hasn’t felt.  I feel it when I realize that I may lose Terry; so does Braithwaite.  Lord Dawn felt it when he couldn’t drag his wife down to him and couldn’t climb up to her.  And his wife must have felt it too, when she sat always by herself.  Phyllis feels it when she sees that, for the moment, you have more attraction for her husband than she has.  And Adair feels it as well, when he risks his good name for a little desperate comfort and is willing to clothe you, for whom he professes to care, with all the appearance of dishonor.  You’re no exception; it’s the feeling that you are exceptional that makes you unscrupulous in your self-pity.  Get that into your head, that you’re not exceptional.  Half the world’s with you in the same box; but it smiles and doesn’t own it.  Have you got that?”

She nodded and tried to withdraw her hands; but he held them fast.

“And now as regards this desire to be wanted; that’s perfectly right and natural.  There’s nobody who doesn’t share it.  And I understand what you say about mere friendship.  It’s unsatisfying and impermanent.  It’s like a meal snatched at a restaurant; none of the dishes or napkins or tables or chairs belong to you.  They’ve been used by other people before you and they’ll be used by other people the moment your bill is settled.  What you want and what every one wants, is something more than friendship a human relation with one person who is so much yours that your intimacies are a secret from all the world.”

“Some one with whom I can be little,” she whispered, “and foolish and off my guard.”

He smiled.  “That’s it exactly.  But you won’t get that sort of relationship with a man who belongs already to another woman.”

“One gets the pretense.”

He shook his head.  “Not even the pretense.  There was a phrase you used about Adair; you said he’d lost his direction.  That’s true; he has for the moment.  Presently he’ll refind it and the road leads back to Phyllis.  You said something else:  you called him a second best.  That’s all he is, however you take him, whether as a husband, a father or a lover.  He lacks earnestness; he has always lacked it.  I’ve been his friend for years; his flabbiness sticks out all over him.  But you’re not a second best, Mrs. Lockwood.  You’re a top-notcher too fine for anything but the best.  You really are.  You ought to set a higher value on yourself.”

She had regained her composure.  He showed a willingness to release her hands, but she let them rest where they were like tired birds, while she regarded him with wistful kindness.

“Too fine for anything but the best!  It’s a long while since I heard any one say that.  Reggie used to say it in almost those very words.  But then Reggie,” she caught her breath at the remembered ecstasy, “Reggie used to think that the sun rose and set for me.  He was different from all other men.  You advise me to reserve myself for the best.  How can I do that, Lord Taborley, when the best is in the past?”

She was very beautiful in the simplicity of her pathos one of the most beautiful women he had ever met.  She had become a little child for the moment and her littleness was baffling.  He felt extraordinarily near to her and alone with her.  There was no longer any danger in their aloneness.  He realized why it was that she was able to give away so much of herself; there was no value in the gift, for her heart was beyond the capture of any man.  She was the shuttered house of a vanished happiness, inhabited by a restless ghost.  The gold light from the lamp fell in a pool about her.  It revealed startlingly the whiteness of her arms and throat, the blueness of her eyes and the primrose gleam of her polished head.  She seemed insubstantial as a dream, environed by shadows.  And what did she mean by saying that all her best lay in the past?  Surely she had misjudged!  With her power of charm she could build her world to any pattern.

“The best in the past!  None of us know enough about the future to say that.  The best lies ahead always.  To believe that brings our best within our grasp.”

“For me it can’t.”  She spoke hopelessly.  “No believing can do that when your best is dead.”

The finality of her despair silenced him.  He could feel it like fingers tightening on his throat.  He realized in a flash that this was how he, too, would be tempted to speak were he to lose Terry that, having lost the best, any careless makeshift would suffice to comfort him.  While he considered, her hands snuggled closer in his clasp, establishing a new sympathy.

“I think,” he said at last, “even though my best were dead, I should try to go on acting as if it lay still ahead.  If I did that, round some new turning I might find it waiting for me as a kind of recompense.”

She leant forward, peering eagerly into his eyes.  “Yes.  You would do that.  I’m sure of it.  I knew you had something to give me the moment we met.  That was why I wouldn’t let you escape me.  I’ve learnt the secret at last the secret of your air of conquest.  It isn’t that you get your desires.  It’s not that.  It’s your belief that you will get them that makes you strong.”

Somewhere at the back of his head he remembered the pleading of Delilah with Samson, “Tell me, I pray thee, wherein thy great strength lieth.”

He laughed.  “Perhaps you have guessed.  I’m what you might call a round-the-corner person.  I have a philosophy all my own; it’s a round-the-corner philosophy.  I believe that we find everything that we’ve lost or longed for, if we’ll only press on.  Everything that we’ve ever loved or wanted waits for us further up the road, round some hidden turning.  It’s always further up the road and just out of sight.  The whole trick of living is to keep your tail up and march forward with the appearance of success, no matter how badly other people say you’ve been defeated.  More often than not, we’re nearer our hidden corners than any of us guess; it’s the pluck to struggle the last hundred yards that swings us round the turning and wins our kingdoms for us.”

She withdrew her hands and lay back against the cushions.  “No amount of courage ” She broke off and tried afresh.  “Being brave wouldn’t put him again into my arms.  You’re wondering whom I’m talking about Reggie Pollock, my only husband.  The other two didn’t count, any more than Adair counts.  I don’t say it unkindly.  I do want you to believe that.  They were passers-by that was all.  They hung their hats in the hall and, somehow, they stopped.  They were nice boys, both of them.  It seemed a kind of war-work to let them marry me.  You see, they needed me; so when they said they loved me, I didn’t have the heart to turn them out.  I suppose I was too amiable.  But they didn’t count not at all.”

“The war’s over,” Tabs reminded her with quiet humor.  “How long is this amiability going to last?”

She smiled dreamily.  “Adair again!  You don’t leave him alone for long.  If you think that I ever let him make love to me, you’re mistaken.  It’s only that he’s unhappy and I can do something for him.”

Tabs wasn’t at all sure that it was only that.  This fatal amiability might have raised quite different expectations in Adair.  Like her two latest husbands, he might take a notion to hang his hat in her hall.  If he did, would she abate her amiability sufficiently to tell him to hang it somewhere else?

She was drifting; what she needed was either a tow-rope or a rudder.  He sent his gaze questing through the shadows.

“Those five photographs, all of the same man they’re of Pollock?”

“Yes.”

“He was one of the first of all the aces, wasn’t he?  It was he who brought down the Zeppelin over Brussels and went missing a few days later.  You see, I remember his record.  He was outstandingly brave at a time when the world was full of brave men.  And you tell me he loved you?”

An expression of triumph flitted across her face.  “Not loved.”  Her voice was full-throated.  “He adored me, and to me he was a god whom I worshiped.  I’d have gone through hell for him.  I’d ”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

The flatness of the contradiction pulled her up short.  “No you wouldn’t,” he repeated quietly.  “You wouldn’t even go through this for him.  You wouldn’t play the game by him when he was dead.  He always kept his end up, whatever the odds against him; but you you couldn’t.  This was your chance to show that you were worthy of him.  While he was alive, you played a winning game; it was easy to be true to him.  But he he was stauncher; he was most to be trusted when the game seemed all but lost.  You ought to have kept his spirit alive for us; but you’ve understood so little of his spirit that you’ve been willing to put any stranger in his place to quote your own words, any stranger who chose to hang his hat in your hall.  Pollock was a soldier; he didn’t need to be sure of victory to show courage.  It was in tight corners that he was at his best.  You’re in a tight corner now, and you’re his wife the wife whom he didn’t love, but adored.”

The brutal impact of the truth had struck her dumb at first.  Her lips had fallen apart.  While she had listened, her face had gone white.  Now that he paused, she slipped back into the cushions, covering her eyes with her hands.  “For God’s sake stop torturing me!  Though you think I’m as contemptible as that, don’t say it.  If you must speak, tell me what you think I ought to do.”

“Do!  Until you find a living man who’s his match, carry on as though he were not dead.”

She uncovered her eyes and sat upright, staring at him.  “As though he were not dead.  But Reggie is dead.  You know as well as I do that he’s dead.”

Tabs nodded.  “I’m not denying it.  But for all that, try to live as though he weren’t as though somewhere up the road, a day, a week, a month, a year hence he would meet you round the corner.”

Her interest faded forlornly.  “What good would that do?  It would only be making believe with myself.”

He spoke gently.  “Yes, but games of make-believe come true.  You couldn’t meet him, but you might meet some one his equal a man who’s, perhaps, already waiting for you, while you squander yourself on makeshifts and second bests.”

The little silence which had ended his speech dragged on from seconds into minutes.  In the quiet room nothing stirred.  She attempted to free herself from his gaze by refusing to look at him.  Against her will her eyes crept up to his, clashed, evaded, fell back and again crept up to them.

At last, speaking humbly, she said, “I was ashamed.  You made me ashamed.  Whatever I’d done, if he came back, he wouldn’t be ashamed of me.  It wouldn’t matter how cowardly I’d been or however many husbands I’d had; he’d be so glad to have me in his arms that he wouldn’t find time to be ashamed of me.  So I’m not going to be ashamed any longer; I’m going to start to live as if he were coming back.  It’ll be hard at first.  Adair he was nothing.  And yet I shall miss him, no doubt.  You said something this afternoon that you didn’t mean.”

“Didn’t I?  What was it?”

“It was when I was crying because nobody wanted me.  Do you remember what you said?  You said, ‘I do,’ not meaning a word of it.  Could you manage to want me just a little, Lord Taborley?  Not for long, you know; only till I’ve got past the loneliest places till I’ve begun almost to persuade myself that he may come back.  To think that you wanted me would help.”

Before he could answer, she had sprung to her feet, all but over-turning the lamp.  “What’s that?”

A sharp rat-a-tat-tat had reverberated through the house.  While she spoke, it was repeated.  Her over-strung nerves gave way.  As Tabs rose, she clung to him beseechingly.  “Don’t let him in.  I’m not ready for him.  Don’t let him in.  Go outside and send him away.  Tell him anything.  But don’t let him enter.”

Tabs had no clear idea to whom she was referring.  It might have been to Adair.  It might have been to Pollock.  It seemed more likely that it was to her dead husband.  This talk about living as though he might come back had probably distraught an imagination already over-taxed.

“He sha’n’t enter,” he assured her.  “There’s no need to lose your nerve.”

As he passed into the hall, he heard the starchy approach of Porter.  He waited and halted her with, “Mrs. Lockwood asked me to answer it.”

When he had watched her retreat and vanish, he advanced towards the door.  Who was it out there in the darkness whose knock had power to strike such terror?  It was a terror the excitement of which he at least remotely shared.  The thought crossed his mind, “Is it possible that her longing could have dragged him back?” He felt as though in the stucco-fronted gloom of Mulberry Court, Fate itself stood waiting for him on the other side of the panel.  With conscious bravado he stretched out his hand and drew back the latch.

II

“Is it Mr. Easterday?”

It was a woman’s voice that asked the question a deep voice, thrilling with emotion, that made him wonder what it would sound like with all the stops pulled out.  He had opened the door only a little way, expecting that he would have to refuse admittance.  At the sound of a woman’s voice, his sense of the conventions sprang to life.  It must be a good deal past ten and here he was answering Maisie’s door as though he were her butler.  The kind of conclusions that could be drawn were made plain by the caller’s question, “Is it Mr. Easterday?” To be mistaken for Easterday annoyed him.  It was tantamount to an accusation.  It implied that, even though he were not Easterday, the proprietory way in which he attended to other people’s doors at after ten o’clock put Him well within Easterday’s class.  Tabs was particularly annoyed to hear himself accused by a voice so gracious and pleasant.  His surprise had evidently impressed her as furtiveness, for she said, “So it is Mr. Easterday?”

He was at a loss what to do with her how to turn her away.  For Maisie’s sake she must not be allowed to enter, for then she would discover that they had been alone.  He opened the door a few inches wider and parried to gain time.  “If it’s Mr. Easterday that you’re wanting, you’ve made a fortunate mistake.  This is Mrs. Lockwood’s house.  But I happen to know an Easterday an Adair Easterday; he’s a personal friend.  Perhaps he’s the man you’re looking for.  If so, I can give you his address.”

This sally was greeted with a quiet, rather mocking laugh.  He was using his eyes, trying to form an estimate of the visitor.  She had arrived in a car, which he judged to be private, for in the light reflected from the windshield he could make out the livery of her chauffeur.  She was swathed in a sumptuous wrap which looked as though it were of sable.  She held it gathered closely about her, so that it fell in soft folds, revealing and at the same time concealing her figure.  He was anxious to read her face, but the lower part was snuggled into the fur of the deep collar and the upper part was shadowed by a broad-brimmed tulle hat, from which two bird of paradise plumes spread back like wings on the helmet of a viking.  For the rest, she had white kid gloves, which reached up to her elbows.  Outside the glove of the left hand she wore a bracelet; every time she stirred the stones struck fire in the semi-darkness.  Her hands were very small.  Peeping out from below her gown, the buckles on her high-heeled shoes twinkled.  She was mysterious, taunting, and strangely commanding.  As she hovered there across the threshold, a faint perfume drifted up to him like the intoxicating romance of June rose-gardens under moonlight.

She, too, seemed to have suffered a surprise at hearing the tones in which he had spoken.  “His address!  Oh, no, it wasn’t Mr. Easterday I was wanting.  I only supposed If Mrs. Lockwood’s at home, I should like to see her.”

Her voice was like a chime of contralto bells.  It made him think of Bernhardt.  It imparted to the commonplaces she uttered a quite disproportionate intensity of drama and tragic depth.  The way in which she had said, “Oh, no,” reverberated in his memory as though the sound still lingered on the air.

“I don’t know at all,” he commenced.  Then he smiled at his confusion.  “You see I’m not used to answering doors, and Mrs. Lockwood’s not quite herself.  She was very tired just now.  But if you’ll give me your name, I’ll ”

If he’d been left to himself, he might have succeeded in creating the impression that he was Maisie’s physician.  As it was, his conscience was spared the deception by the advent of the inevitable Porter.  She sailed up behind him with an appearance so immaculate that it would have shed propriety on the most compromising circumstances.  He instantly stood aside to make room for her.  “Porter, here’s a lady enquiring for ”

But the lady took matters into her own hands.  “Mrs. Lockwood in, Porter?”

“Why, certainly, your Ladyship.”

“Then why was I shut out?  Who is this gentleman who ”

The rest was lost as their voices sank.  The next words he caught were her Ladyship’s, running up the scale of laughter.  “Then I’m not de trop!  That’s a blessing!”

He fell back, trying to obliterate himself, as with every sign of deference Porter admitted her; but in crossing the hall, she had to pass him.  Scarcely pausing, she swept him with a pair of stone-gray eyes, made mischievous for the moment with merriment.  “You’re no good as a butler,” she whispered.  “You carry discretion too far.”

To his chagrin he recognized her the one woman whom he would most have chosen to have met in an attitude that was dignified.  She entered the drawing-room and was lost to sight.  But she had left the door ajar and he heard Maisie’s delighted exclamation, “Why, Di, what brings you here so late?  This is darling of you!” His position was elaborately false.  It grew more false every minute he delayed.  He foresaw himself apologizing and being explained.  He had no appetite for explanations.  Since he had adventured into Mulberry Tree Court, he had twice been tempted to bolt for safety.  Now that he was tempted for a third time, he acted blindly on the impulse.  Having played the rôle of butler with too much discretion, he seized his hat and, without a thought of ceremony, adopted a butler’s mode of escaping.

III

In the shrouded emptiness of the London night he felt himself free again.  He came into possession of himself and found that he could think with his old definite clearness.  In the last few hours events had rushed him off his feet; he had no sooner realized their significance than he had discovered himself in the throes of a new crisis.  Now, for the moment, he stood aloof and could consider his actions in their true perspective.

As he turned out of Mulberry Tree Court, he had thought he had heard a voice calling after him.  “Lord Taborley!  Lord Taborley!” He had looked back across the imitation village-green, where the white posts showed dimly like smudges of chalk.  The door of Maisie’s house had been opened wide, making a lozenge of gold against the blackness.  He had fancied that he had seen her standing there framed, leaning out, and then Yes, surely he had heard the running of slippered feet along the pavement.  He had not waited.  He scarcely knew from what he was escaping perhaps from his fate, from which there is ultimately no escape.  He seized his respite, however, for the dread of recapture was strong upon him.

And now all hint of pursuit had died out.  Tall houses stood muted against the sky; dim trees cast a leafy obscurity; stars glinted remotely like diamonds set in gun-metal.  He found a healing chastity in his sudden aloneness; it roused in him an almost angry desire to recover his lost monasticism.

He was amused to discover himself speculating as to whether women were worth the trouble they occasioned.  They coerced men with sentimental arguments to which there were no replies.  They wore away men’s fortitude with the continual flowing of their tears.  They molded men’s strength into weakness with the magic caressing of their sex.  They promised and disappointed, flattered and allured, captured and despised.  Their curiosity was insatiable to possess themselves of secrets, which were no longer valued the moment they were divulged.  Their little teasing hands, so destructive and lovable, had commenced the debacle of every human greatness.  Throughout the ages, their coaxing, pleading voices could be heard wheedling men’s hearts to the same purpose.  “Tell me, I pray thee, wherein thy great strength lieth, and wherein thou mightest be bound to afflict thee.”  The strength of men had eternally roused their resentment, whether they were the Delilahs of long ago or the Maisies of a modern generation.  The goal of all their passion, even when it was unselfish, was to bind.

He had nearly been bound, but he had escaped.  At the thought that he had escaped, he felt a flood of exultant joy sweep through him.  He smiled, believing he had discovered a humorous and more human motive for the exhausting piety of the anchorites.  It wasn’t their religious self-abnegation that had made them flee to scorched river-beds and desert hiding-places; it was their triumphant satisfaction at having tantalized and eluded feminine pursuit.  They fled in order that they might possess, not deny themselves.  As they became more emaciated and scarred and as their needs grew less, they listened.  What they heard was ample compensation for all that they had foresworn at the hands of life.  Far blown from distant haunts of habitation came a sound which in their ears was sweetest music:  day and night the painful dragging of chains and the groan of men toiling in servitude to women.

“The Philistines be upon thee, Samson!” When the last sleepy caress had been given, all men who lacked the caution of the anchorite, were sooner or later destined to hear that cry.

How much nobler men had been in a womanless world!  Some of them had had to become womanless before they could be noble.  Pollock plunging to his death from the clouds, like an eagle struck by a thunderbolt!  Lord Dawn with the smile of calm remembrance on his lips, purged of all his fruitless sex-contentions, lying white and quiet beneath the crack and spatter of exploding shells!  Braithwaite, the ex-valet, who had proved himself an aristocrat in courage!  And he himself, thinking only of duty, with every jealous ambition laid aside!

And now The mate of the eagle was a trifler with peacocks and vultures.  The man whose face had been molded by his last thought into an expression of serene faithfulness, was recalled only as one who had lived envenomed by disloyalty.  Braithwaite, the aristocrat in courage, was now distinguished for his cowardice; he himself was at one and the same time Braithwaite’s rival and grudging critic. The Philistines be upon thee, Samson!  And he awoke out of his sleep and said, I will go out as at other times and shake myself Asleep!  He felt that he, too, had been asleep.  All the men who had been giants in the past five years were either dead or sleeping.  And this sudden transformation was the work of women, because men had come back to walk and rest with them in the soft, desired places.  The little feminine hands had stripped them of their charity, had taken away their valor and had concealed liers-in-wait in the chamber of their affections.

So his thoughts ran on, amplifying, magnifying, exaggerating the theme of the debilitating effects of women.  But from all his accusations he exempted Terry.  She was the Joan of Arc of his imagination, who rode on unvanquished across life’s battlefields, inspiring to heroism with her shining purity.  And he made one other exception Lady Dawn.  It was the Lady Dawn of the portrait he exempted, not the Lady Dawn who had mocked him in passing with her steady stone-gray eyes.  In a strange way he discriminated between the portrait and the living woman.  The portrait was almost his friend; the living woman was a stranger.  The woman in the portrait was after his own heart; she had never been known to cry.  “Do it harder; I can bear more than that.”  He thrilled to the pride of her defiance.

Then he pulled himself up with a start.  Again he was thinking about her.  Yes, and though he might discriminate between the portrait and the living woman, it was the living woman’s eyes that gleamed in the blackness of his mind.  There was truth in what Maisie had said, that were he as much in love with Terry as he professed all other women, however beautiful, except the one woman, should be hanks of hair and bags of bones.  He consoled himself by arguing that that was precisely what he had been trying to prove them by his sweeping applications of the conduct of Delilah.

Whichever way he viewed his situation, things were in a pretty fair muddle a muddle which annoyed him because it was so unmerited.  He was pledged to Terry, while she held herself unpledged.  He was committed to help Maisie a distinctly unwise little lady for any bachelor to help.  As a third party to his problem, Lady Dawn intruded herself though why she should, he wasn’t certain.  He would have to see her, however much Maisie dissuaded; it was right that she should know about her husband.  Yet was that the entire reason why he was so keen to see her?  He assured himself very earnestly that it was, and dismissed her from his mind.

For the rest of the journey home he conscientiously narrowed his imaginings to thoughts of Terry.

IV

It was with thoughts of her that he fitted his key in the latch.  The Square was full of newly married couples, some of them little more than boys and girls youngsters who had waited impatiently and had run together the moment war was ended.  Others had been married just long enough to be proudly parading their first baby.  Every morning white prams were wheeled out into the garden, there to be watched over by softly spoken nurses.  Every night, as dusk came down, expectant mothers paced gently through the shadows, leaning on the arms of ex-officer husbands.  It wasn’t only in the trees that nests were being built.  The Square’s name might well have been changed to Honeymoon Square.

And now, as Tabs pushed the door open, preparing to enter, he knew that all up and down the Square, behind the pall of darkness, other doors were being pushed back.  Young couples were coming home from dinners and theaters.  He could hear the murmur of their laughter, subdued and secret, hinting at intimacies of affection.  The men had misplaced their latch-key perhaps; the girls were advising that they search another pocket.  Or the lock refused to turn and the girls were whispering how it could be persuaded.  Some of them were arriving in taxis; others, less lucky or more economic, were tripping by on foot along the pavement.  He noticed how closely they clung together and he thought of Terry.  It would be jolly to be young, to build a nest and, by and by, to see your own white pram wheeled out to take its place in the blowy greenness of the garden.  He withdrew his key and entered, closing the door behind him.

The house was very still.  It was nearly midnight.  The maids had gone to bed, leaving lights in the hall and on the landings.  As he hung up his hat, the stillness was broken by the sudden ringing of the telephone.  It rang in a peevish, scolding manner, as though this were not the first time and it had lost its temper with waiting.  He climbed the flight of stairs to his library and, without waiting to switch on the lights, sat down at his table, taking up the receiver.

“Yes.”

“Is this Lord Taborley?” a voice inquired.

“Lord Taborley speaking.”

“This is Sir Tobias Beddow.”  There was a pause, followed by a little asthmatic cough.  Then, “How are you, my dear fellow?  I’ve been trying to reach you all evening.  I was expecting to see you round here this morning at eleven. No, I don’t mean perhaps what you infer.  Besides, it wouldn’t have been any good if you had called; Terry wandered out, without leaving word where she was going.  She didn’t get back till nearly lunch-time.  Most unaccountable conduct under the circumstances; but since your conduct was equally unaccountable, perhaps it was just as well.  But that wasn’t what I called you up about.”

Tabs smiled in the darkness.  Sir Tobias was as simple and crafty as a child; he couldn’t keep anything back.  Then his mind jumped to the obvious conclusion.  Terry hadn’t told her parents about her morning interview; her parents naturally supposed that it was his fault that he was not engaged to her as yet.  Making an effort to be diplomatic, he said, “Perhaps I can explain my apparent negligence to you later.  It must seem unpardonable.  I’ve been busy every minute over things that absolutely couldn’t be avoided.”

“Of course.  Of course.”  The words were spoken soothingly, but without conviction.  “We men understand.  It’s Lady Beddow who Such events are women’s great occasions.  She’s a stickler for form.  As you say, you can explain later But that wasn’t what I called you up about.”

Tabs stifled a yawn.  He had suddenly discovered he was sleepy.

“What was that you said?” Sir Tobias enquired suspiciously.

“I didn’t say anything,” Tabs replied politely.  “But I think I know what you called me up about.  It was about Maisie I mean Mrs. Lockwood.”

“What about her?” The question was asked carelessly; he knew at once that he had missed his guess.  It was strange, even though he had guessed wrongly, that Sir Tobias should not display more interest.

“What about her?  Only that I’ve spent the last six hours with her.  You asked me to see her as soon as possible, you remember.  I had only just got home from being with her, when the telephone rang.  She’s not the woman we thought her.”

“Eh?  What’s that?”

He repeated what he had said.  He was perfectly certain that Sir Tobias had heard the first time.  “She’s not the woman we thought her.”  And he added, “There’s been some mistake.  She hasn’t and never did have any designs on Adair.  After we’d talked things over, she agreed of her own accord never to see him again.”

“She did!” There was a long pause, expressive of skepticism, dissatisfaction, or anything that he cared to conjecture.  Then, “When we meet, you can tell me.  But that wasn’t what I called you up about.”

Tabs waited for him to tell him why he had called him up.  He waited so long that it seemed to be a competition to see who would compel the other to break the silence first.  At last he gave in.  “If that wasn’t why, why did you?”

He almost heard Sir Tobias blink his eyes those faded eyes that looked so blind and saw so much.  “I called you up about this General Braithwaite.  He’s been here to see me on the biggest fool’s errand, with the most unusual story which, if it’s true, partly concerns yourself.  It’s too late to enter into details this evening.  But I thought I’d let you know Good night.”

“One minute, Sir Tobias ”

Before he could get any further Sir Tobias had hung up.  For a few seconds he sat there in the darkness listening; then he hung up also and took himself off to bed.

What object had Braithwaite had in going to see Sir Tobias?  Was it his first step in trying to play fair?  Was his “fool’s errand” a formal request for Terry’s hand in marriage and his “unusual story” a manly recital of the facts?  And had this great advance in frankness included the telling of Ann?  As he tossed sleeplessly from side to side, other problems leapt up to confront him.  Had he done wisely in promising Maisie that, in a measure, he would compensate her for the loss of Adair?  What would Sir Tobias think of such an intimacy when he got to hear of it?  What would even Adair think of it?  There was only one person who would not doubt his integrity; that was Terry.  And then Lady Dawn had he actually any moral right to interfere in her affairs?  “Do it harder; I can bear more than that.”  He could hear her saying it in that deep, emotional voice of hers.  He could feel her honest stone-gray eyes, probing his soul for motives in the darkness.

Day was breaking and birds were stirring in the mist of greenness that topped his windows, before his eye-lids closed and he slipped off into forgetfulness.

V

“To-morrow’s another new day,” he thought as he awoke.  One could meet any and every indebtedness to life if he only had a sufficient fund of to-morrows in his bank.

He looked at his watch and leapt out of bed.  Nine o’clock!  He had slept late.  He didn’t hurry over his dressing.  He could afford to be late for once.  The mood of conquest was upon him.  Maisie had said that.  No, it wasn’t the mood but the air of conquest that she’d said he had.  Whichever it was, he would prove her a true prophetess.  He might not gain all his desires, but he’d at least wear the air of one who was going to gain them.  To-morrow was another new day, and to-morrow had arrived.

On coming down to breakfast he scrutinized Ann’s features closely to learn whether she had heard anything from Braithwaite.  They told him nothing.  Presently, however, while she served him, she began to open out.

“Did your Lordship speak to the gentleman at the War Office?”

Tabs had been glancing through the morning paper.  He looked up.  “Yes, I did, Ann.  I placed your letter in his hands, and saw him read it.”

“Did he say anything or promise anything to your Lordship?”

Tabs pursed his lips judicially, trying to avoid a lie.  “You know what these War Office officials are.  They never make promises to any one.  But I believe this one’s a good-hearted chap.  When he realizes how much this thing means to you, I think he’ll do his best.”

“Then he didn’t show your Lordship my letter?”

Tabs had dipped into his newspaper again.  He detested the well-meant deceit he was compelled to practice.  This time, when he answered, he didn’t raise his eyes.  “No, he didn’t.”

But she didn’t efface herself, as he had expected.  She stood there, to one side of his chair.  He felt that she was looking down at him.  Just above the edge of his paper he could see her hands clasped together, pressing against each other in agitation.  He abandoned his refuge and dropped the paper to the carpet.

“Something more that you want to ask me?  What is it?”

“Your Lordship said that when the gentleman realized how much all this meant to me, he’d do his best.”

“That’s what I said and I’m sure of it.”

“What I wanted to ask was, does your Lordship think he has realized?”

It was the way she said it that roused his curiosity.  Could she have guessed?  Had she read the address on that letter which he had given her to post to General Braithwaite, and put two and two together?

He met her eyes good, gray eyes, with something of Lady Dawn’s grave honesty in their expression.  “I think he has realized.”

“Thank you, sir; and I’m sorry I had to trouble you.”

She withdrew, leaving him with the disturbing sense that she had intended more than she had said.  He gathered up the paper from the floor in the hope that a perusal of it might enable him to recover his lost equanimity.  In so doing he caught sight of the last page, which contained the photographic items.  Braithwaite’s face stared up at him.  Above it was printed the caption, “Youngest Ranker Brigadier Demobbed Yesterday.”

If she had seen that, she knew.  If she had seen it, what would be her next move appeal or revenge?  What had been the significance of her final question, “Does your Lordship think he has realized?” Did she know now; had she even known when she had written her letter that it would be received by Braithwaite himself?

If she didn’t know and had not seen the paper, he was determined that she should not see it.  Before leaving the room, he stuffed it into the empty grate and applied a match.  He would play fair by Braithwaite.  He was so eager to play fair that he did not turn to go upstairs till every vestige of print had been licked to ashes.

VI

His library occupied the whole of the second story; even at that it was not very large.  It had two long French windows, opening onto a veranda which looked out over the Square.  The veranda was constructed of wrought iron, painted green, and ran straight across the front of the house.  Ann used it for giving her plants an airing; they usually formed a truant garden beyond the panes.  There was a smaller window at the back, from which a view could be obtained of the Oratory.

The room was furnished in English red lacquer, which had been transferred from the collection at Taborley House, when Taborley House had been lent to the Americans for a military hospital.  The walls were hung with landscapes by Zuccarelli and with Chinese portrait-groups of the Eighteenth Century.

He had scarcely entered before the telephone renewed its irritating clamor, like a fretful child which yelled whenever it heard his footstep.  He responded to its fretfulness in very much the same mood, seizing hold of the receiver as though he would shake it into silence.

“Yes.  Hullo!  Hullo!  Yes, this is Lord Taborley.  What’s that?  You didn’t catch what I It’s Lord Taborley speaking, I said.”

“Well, I must say you don’t sound very nice.”  It was a woman’s amused voice.  “Even at this distance, you make me almost afraid.  I do hope you haven’t been like that all night.”

Tabs made his tones more smiling.  “I’m sorry if I don’t sound sufficiently pleasant.  But who are you?”

“Well, who do you think?” There was a snatch of laughter.  “I’m Maisie; I mean Mrs. Lockwood.  You needn’t tell me that you’re not frowning, because I can feel it.  What’s the matter?”

He pulled a wry face at himself in the opposite mirror and shrugged his shoulders.  Down the ’phone he said with excessive amiability, “Nothing.  I’m top-hole.  How are you feeling?”

Her answer came back like a flash, “Vulgar and not very safe.”  It was followed by a gurgle of merriment.

“I’m not sure that I understand your symptoms.”

The gurgle was repeated.  “You wouldn’t.  Lord Taborley never feels vulgar and he’s always safe.  But this is one of my vulgar days, when I’m not to be trusted.  I always have one when Di has been to visit me; it’s the relapse after contact with too high standards of respectability.  I’m liable to do anything.  I married Gervis and Lockwood after being with her.  I shall break out to-day if you don’t come at once and stop me.  Unless unless you don’t want to stop me and would prefer the experiment of being vulgar together.”

“The prospect sounds alluring.”  He was trying to let her down lightly.  “But I’m afraid I have too many engagements on hand.”

“Oh!” It was the oh of disappointment.  When she spoke again her gay irresponsibility had vanished and a coaxing quality had come into her voice.  “I know you’ve only just got home from being with me I mean comparatively speaking.  I don’t want to make myself a burden to you, but It’s such a jolly day.  Have you been up long enough to look out of the window?  I thought we could go off somewhere to the Zoo, perhaps, and drink lemonade all among the monkeys and the nuts.  I woke up planning it.  We’d limit our spending money to five shillings like kiddies, and do all our riding on busses.  Doesn’t that sound jolly?”

“Immensely,” he agreed; “but I’m afraid no amount of jolliness could tempt ”

She broke in on him.  “It’s the kind of thing I used to do with Adair.”

The meaning of this last remark was plain; she was reminding him that if the pair of shoes vacated by Adair were to remain vacated, he must pay the promised price on occasions by wearing them himself.  He determined to get behind her diplomatic hints with frankness.

“I don’t want you to think, Mrs. Lockwood, that because I have to refuse your first request I’m going back on our contract.  There’ll be plenty of other opportunities.”

He caught her sigh of relief across the line.  When she spoke again it was with a new brightness and reasonableness.  “I’m glad you said that.  So you really are going to help me?  I was a wee bit afraid that you’d gone back on your bargain by the way you ran away.”

It was his first experience of the advantage a woman gains when she attacks a man from the other end of a telephone.  He had trouble in making his voice sound patient.  He replied with conscious hypocrisy, “I’m sorry I created the impression of running away.”

“You did.”  Her answer came back promptly.  “You created the same impression on us both.  I had to do a lot of explaining to Di.”

“And I was trying to save you embarrassment,” he excused himself.

“Eh!  What’s that?”

To his immense surprise a third voice a man’s jumped in on the conversation.  “Are you there?  Is this Lord Taborley?”

Tabs was just getting ready to confess that he was there and that he was Lord Taborley, when Maisie took matters out of his hands by informing the intruder that the line was occupied and that he was interrupting a conversation.

“I’m sorry,” the intruder apologized, “but my time’s valuable.  I’ve been kept waiting for the best part of quarter of an hour.  Are you the telephone-girl that I’m talking to?”

“Indeed I’m not,” said Maisie with considerable haughtiness.  “Please get off the line.”  And then to Tabs, “Are you still there, Lord Taborley?  This is Mrs. Lockwood.  Can’t you postpone some of those engagements so that we can meet to-day?”

At that moment the girl at the switch-board took a hand.  There was a confused gabbling and buzzing of voices, out of which the suave tones of the intruder emerged triumphant, saying, “This is Sir Tobias Beddow.  Can I speak with Lord Taborley?”

Perhaps Maisie had heard.  At all events, the moment Sir Tobias declared himself the line cleared.

But it wasn’t what Maisie had overheard that disturbed Tabs; it was the uncertainty as to how much of her conversation had been listened to by Sir Tobias.  After all, prospective fathers-in-law are only human and as likely as any other class to jump to damaging conclusions.  Tabs hung up the receiver, making it necessary for him to be summoned afresh before he acknowledged his presence at the ’phone.  Then, “Good morning, Sir Tobias.”

“Good morning, my dear fellow.”  Sir Tobias was as courtly and friendly as ever.  “I called you up to know whether you could run round to see me between now and the forenoon.  Yes, the matter I mentioned to you last night.  About eleven, you say?  Very well, then, I shall expect you.”

VII

No sooner had the butler with the velvet-plush manners admitted him than he found himself face to face with Terry.  She must have known that he was expected and have been lying in wait for him.  Before he could say a word, she pressed a finger to her lips, signaling caution.  To the butler she said in a low tone, “It’s all right, James; you don’t need to wait.  I’ll announce Lord Taborley.”  The discreet James showed a fitting appreciation of romance by folding his plump hands across the pit of his stomach, making the ghost of a bow and tiptoeing noiselessly into the nether regions with the stealth of a conspirator.

Terry’s face was a picture of innocence.  After Maisie she struck him as very young much too young to love or to know the meaning of love.  The sight of her freshness was forbidding.  It made him seem jaded.  It filled him with a reverence that was not far short of worship.  He felt it impossible to think of her as performing the ordinary acts of a mortal world.  He had the feeling that she moved on higher levels that she was a creature too shy and perfect to be made the instrument of passion.  She should be guarded in her purity like a vestal virgin, so that her straight young body might be forever valiant and her eyes might never learn the cowardice of tears.

In the brave March sunlight which shafted down on her, her head looked more like a Botticelli angel’s than ever.  The raw gold of her bobbed hair shone solid as metal, making a sharp edge where it ended against the ivory pallor of her throat.  She was dressed in a white tailor-made serge.  Her violet eyes danced with eager secrets.

“What are you doing to-day?” she whispered.

“Nothing!” he whispered, “if you want me.”

“Then invite me out to lunch.  I’ve such heaps to tell you.  Don’t let Daddy take you to his club I know he’s going to ask you.  And, oh, before I forget, I’ve told them nothing about yesterday, so don’t give me away by accident.”  Then in a sly aside, just as she was turning the door-knob to admit him to her father’s library, “You’ve been getting on famously with Maisie, haven’t you?”

Before he could reply, they were across the threshold.  There was a sound as of a rheumaticky hen stirring in its nest.  The neck of Sir Tobias craned painfully round the corner of a high-backed chair.

“Here’s Lord Taborley to see you, Daddy.  Don’t keep him forever.  He’s just invited me to go out with him to lunch.”

Having shot her bolt, with the masterly strategy of her sex, she vanished, pulling the door behind her.

What would Shakespeare have said under the circumstances, and what would a suitor have said to Shakespeare when he knew that he was suspected of having gone back on his request for the daughter’s hand in marriage?  Tabs almost felt that he was in the actual presence of the bard of Stratford, Sir Tobias looked so ineffectually pompous and overweighted with gravity.  Both Sir Tobias and Shakespeare, in the opinion of Tabs, were vastly overrated persons; but the only thing Shakespearian about Sir Tobias this morning was the magnificent calmness of his forehead; his podgy body, supported by its stiff little pen-wiper legs was more reminiscent of Punch, as portrayed on the cover of the famous weekly which bears his name.

“Immensely considerate of you to come,” puffed Sir Tobias, levering himself out of his chair in order that he might shake hands.

“Not kind at all,” Tabs contradicted cheerfully.  “I kill two birds with one stone; I have my conversation with you and in half an hour I carry off Terry.”

That’ll make him hurry up with whatever he has to say, he thought; it sets a time limit.

The old gentleman seemed put out to find himself deprived of his prerogative to be elaborate and prosy.  He made a gesture, indicating that Tabs should copy his example and choose a chair.  But Tabs ignored it.  He had learnt that a man on his feet has the advantage, especially if he stands six foot two in his socks.

“You’ll be wanting my news,” he suggested.  “I told you pretty well everything across the telephone.  I think it’s a case of everybody having got the wind up Phyllis particularly.  Mrs. Lockwood’s a very restful woman.  I should call her a man’s woman.  She’s bright and entertaining and pretty, and she owns a charming little house.  She had no responsibilities, so she’s free to entertain from morning till night.  Adair has without doubt visited her more often than was wise.  It was remarkably foolish of him to have made a woman-friend whom he didn’t share with Phyllis.  But I suppose he didn’t dare to introduce them after he’d seen that Phyllis was jealous.  However that may be, this dread that they may run away together is moonshine.  Mrs. Lockwood sets too high a value on herself.  Besides, there’s only one man whom she loves or ever has loved for that matter.  He happens to be dead!”

“One moment, my dear fellow,” Sir Tobias interrupted, “I always understood that the lady had had three husbands.  Was this man one of them or did she have no affection for any of the men she married?”

Tabs felt himself cornered and he had been getting on so well.  He realized that if once he allowed Sir Tobias to start questioning him he would get tangled up.  “She’s complex,” he explained; “she’s complex in her simplicity.  She’s one of the most simply complicated and complicatedly simple women that I ever met.  To understand her you have to talk with her.  I talked with her for six hours.  The upshot was that she promised to shut her door against Adair.”

The innocent old eyes blinked.  “I’m not modern, like you, Lord Taborley.  I have my suspicions of these simply complicated and complicatedly simple women.  Set me down as old-fashioned.  Having been only once married, I can’t enter into the refinements of feeling of such matrimonially inclined boa-constrictors as Mrs. Lockwood.  I sha’n’t give myself the chance of meeting her.  I’m an old man; it would be too upsetting.  If I talked with her, I shouldn’t understand.  So I must take your word for it that, however much appearances may have been against her, her motives were beyond question.”  He slipped forward in his chair with a disconcerting suddenness; for a moment his filmy eyes became penetrating.  “She seems to have made a deep impression on you, my dear fellow.  If your optimism proves correct and through your efforts Adair is free from her clutches, we all owe you a debt of gratitude.  But and I’m sure you won’t take amiss what I’m saying I would advise you, now that you’ve effected Adair’s rescue, not to see too much of her yourself.  In fact, if I were you, I wouldn’t see her any more if I could help.”

It was clear that the benignant, sly old gentleman had overheard a substantial part of Maisie’s telephone conversation.  It was equally clear that his interference was wisely and kindly intended.  He had a perfect right to be scrupulous about the conduct of a man whom he regarded as his future son-in-law; but he had no right to take advantage of the worst managed telephone-system in the world to eavesdrop on a private conversation.  At the same time Tabs could hardly accuse him of eavesdropping, so he fell back on his dignity for defense.

“I’ve always been very well able to take care of myself,” he said quietly.  “If I hadn’t been, I shouldn’t have undertaken your mission and have gone to interview the kind of woman you described.  I found, however, that she didn’t live up to your description of her; in fairness to her I have to let you know that.  I don’t think you appreciate, Sir Tobias, what a delicate situation you created for both of us.  She’s a woman of breeding; which goes without saying since she’s Lady Dawn’s sister a fact which you withheld from me.  You sent me to her house as a kind of moral policeman with a warrant for her arrest.  She was well aware of that and she was also aware that the charge you laid against her was almost libelously mistaken.  All I can say is that she has behaved very handsomely.  Since you and Phyllis have misunderstood her friendship for Adair, she’s willing to break off relations.  The most courteous and only decent thing that we can do is to cease discussing her.  It’s an incident which does none of us much credit.”

As he had warmed to her defense, Tabs had been very conscious that he was being more than generous perhaps even more generous than truthful.  It hadn’t been his intention at the start to depict her as a wronged and spotless angel; but the skepticism of the attentive old image, bleached with disillusions and faded with years, had goaded him to excess.

Sir Tobias had listened, scratching his pointed beard thoughtfully, with entire amiability.  He was utterly unimpressed and visibly unashamed.  “You’re a man of the world, my dear Taborley, and you have the advantage of having seen her.  From what you say I gather that she’s not bad looking.  To the not bad looking much is forgiven.  Nevertheless, I stand by my opinion that she’s not a safe woman to see too often.  However, you’re master of your own actions and that’s neither here nor there.”

He commenced to fumble through his pockets.  When he had found his cigarette-case, he proffered it to Tabs, who refused it.

“I wish you’d sit down, my dear fellow.”

Tabs glanced at his watch.  There was only a quarter of an hour left of the time he had allotted.  As a concession to Sir Tobias he seated himself.  “It was about General Braithwaite that you called me up last night?”

“Yes.  But there’s no hurry.  We can discuss that over lunch.”

Tabs considered that the time had come to be firm.  “I’m sorry, Sir Tobias.  Terry’s lunching with me.  We start in something less than fifteen minutes.”

Sir Tobias screwed himself round and surveyed his future son-in-law with a mild amazement.  For forty years he had been accustomed to having his own way unchallenged.  “Terry can wait.”  He spoke as though the matter was now settled.  “What I have to tell you is important.”

“And so is what I have to tell Terry.”  Tabs emphasized his statement by glancing again at his watch.

For a few seconds Sir Tobias was at a loss.  To hear himself opposed was a novel experience.  Then he thought he had discovered a consoling reason for this obstinacy and smiled loftily, as Shakespeare retired to Stratford might have smiled at hearing himself reminded by Ann Hathaway that he was not so great a man as London had imagined.

“Very well, my dear fellow,” he conceded; “young blood will have its way.  I withdraw for this once, since your plans are already made.”

His forgiveness was brushed aside.  Time was pressing.  Tabs forced him to the point without further ceremony or waste of words.  “When you phoned yesterday evening it was nearly midnight, so the matter must have seemed urgent.  You said that General Braithwaite had been to see you on a fool’s errand, with a story that partly concerned myself.  May I ask how it concerned me?”

“You’re brusque, very brusque,” Sir Tobias complained.  “We could have talked this over much better at my club.”

When Tabs showed no signs of relenting, he revealed his real feelings testily.  “You know this fellow Braithwaite.  You must have recognized him the moment you clapped eyes on him.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tabs looked up quickly, taken aback and slightly resentful at the peremptory tones in which he was addressed.  “It wasn’t my business.  Apart from that, I was aware of nothing to his discredit.”  Once again as in the case of Maisie, he was allowing himself to be goaded out of justice into excessive generosity.

“Nothing to his discredit!  That depends on your point of view.”  Sir Tobias sniffed audibly.  He could be as a rude as a spoilt child.  “That depends on how deeply interested you’re in in my daughter.”

“I think I gave you proof of my interest, Sir Tobias, the other evening when I asked ”

“Pshaw!  You know very well what I’m driving at, Taborley.”

“Nevertheless, I should like to hear you put it into words.”

Sir Tobias gave one of his remarkable exhibitions of youthfulness.  Flinging aside his decrepitude, as though it had been no more than an affectation, he shot bolt upright, gripping the arms of his chair.  “Last night, within a handful of hours of my forbidding him the house, he had the impertinence to call here to inform me that he was in love with Terry.  Not content with that, he added insult to his impertinence by telling me that he had been your valet.  How is it, Taborley, that on that evening when you dined here as his fellow-guest, you never once hinted by look or word that he wasn’t the part he was playing?  I can’t consider that very honorable of you.  As an old friend, quite apart from any new relationship, I had the right to expect that my interests were nearer to your heart.  It upsets me to find I was mistaken.  Have you so little pride in the girl you propose to marry that it doesn’t offend you to see her gadding about with ex-servants?  You saw them get up and leave the table that night.  You heard the front-door bang and knew that they’d gone out together my daughter with the fellow who used to put the studs into your shirts!  And there you sat with me, sipping your coffee and chatting as though it were all perfectly right and normal.  Upon my soul, Taborley, you’re beyond my comprehending.  If I, her father, can feel this indignation, what ought not you to feel?  You’re supposed to be her lover and you’re not jealous.  So far as I can see, you’re not even disturbed.”

Tabs’ face had gone suddenly white.  He acknowledged to himself that, had he been Terry’s father, he would have said no less.  When he spoke it was with quiet intensity.

“I am annoyed, Sir Tobias a good deal more annoyed than I care to own to myself; but I try not to let my annoyance obscure my sense of justice.  It isn’t fair to consider Braithwaite in the light of a servant.  He isn’t a servant; he’s won his spurs.  He arrived at the position he occupies to-day through original and unaided merit.  That the man who was my servant, happens to be my rival, is bitterly galling.  But I’m not going to let it blind me to the fact that he has qualities of greatness.  He proved those qualities, even more than on the battlefield, when he came to you and pluckily told you the truth about himself.  God knows what he thought to gain by it; but I’m hats off to him.”

Sir Tobias threw out his hands in a disowning gesture.  “I don’t want to quarrel with you that’s the last thing I desire.  But I must confess that I fail to sympathize with your attitude of mind.  Magnanimity is all very well, but it’s easy to be magnanimous where your affections aren’t too deeply concerned.  A man in love has no right to be magnanimous it isn’t a healthy sign.  Lady Beddow used those very words to me this morning.  She feels as I do, that in your attitude to Terry you lack something.  You’ve let two days elapse since you asked my permission to approach her You’re the same with this Maisie woman inhumanly, unsatisfactorily magnanimous.  You don’t identify yourself with our antipathies you almost side with the people who affront us.  It’s estranging and distressing.  I like a man to be more emphatic in his loyalties and aversions.  I like him to show more fire.  In days that I can almost remember, Braithwaite’s intrusion would have been an occasion for a duel.  Terry’s mother feels the same about you; it makes her unhappy.  ’He lacks ardor’ that was how she expressed it.  ’Perhaps, after all, he’s too old for Terry,’ she said.  Personally I don’t go as far as that.”

Now that he had made an end, Sir Tobias attempted to beam on Tabs with his accustomed suavity.  He was skillful in saying offensive things with an air of consideration.  When he had said, “Personally I don’t go as far as that,” he had leant out and patted Tabs’ hand with a senile display of affection.

Too old for Terry! Tabs sat pondering the words.  They voiced his own doubt the doubt that had haunted him from the moment of his return.  The antiquated version of Shakespeare sat watching him, plucking at his pointed beard and blinking his faded eyes shrewdly.

Suddenly with a cavalier smile of conquest, which was strangely unwarranted, Tabs swung himself to his feet.  “Well, Sir Tobias, we’ve talked for more than our half hour.  After all, it doesn’t matter a continental what you, or I, or Lady Beddow feels.  It’s Terry’s feelings that count.  I shall know what she feels before the afternoon is ended.”

He was holding out his hand to the surprised old gentleman, when the door opened just sufficiently to admit Terry’s head.

“Come on, your Lordship!” she laughed mockingly, “you’ve kept me waiting long enough.”