rness and
tact, was right--up to a point. It was just Family Herald heroics about
"not crossing the threshold." At least--rather to his surprise--he found
himself half hoping it was. Roy and Lilamani could frankly detest
her--and there an end. Nevil--in spite of unforgiveable interludes--was
liable to be tripped up by the fact that, after all, she was his sister;
and her aggression was proof that, in her own queer fashion, she loved
him. Half the trouble was that the love of each for the other took
precisely the form that other could least appreciate or understand: no
uncommon dilemma in family life. At all events, he had achieved his
declaration of independence. And he had not failed to evoke the "deuce
of a row."

With a sigh of smothered exasperation, he leaned forward and hid his
face in his hands....

The door opened softly. He started and looked up. It was Roy--in
flannels and blazer, his dark hair slightly ruffled: considered
dispassionately (and Nevil believed he so considered him) a singularly
individual and attractive figure of youth.

At the look in his father's face, he hesitated, wrinkling his brows in a
way that recalled his mother.

"Anything wrong, Daddums? I'm fearfully sorry. I came for a book. Is
it"--still further hesitation--"Aunt Jane?"

"Why? Have you seen her?" Nevil asked sharply.

"Yes. Was it a meteoric visitation? As I came up the path, she was
getting into her car.--And she cut me dead!" He seemed more amused than
impressed. Then the truth dawned on him. "Dad--_have_ you been telling
her? _Is_ she 'as frantic as a skit'?"

Their favourite Hardy quotation moved Nevil to a smile. "She's
angry--naturally--because she wasn't consulted," he said (a happy idea).
"And--well, she doesn't understand."

"'Course she doesn't. Can she ever?" retorted impertinent youth. "She
lacks the supreme faculty--imagination." Which was disrespectful, but
unanswerable.

Nevil had long ago recognised the futility of rebuke in the matter of
"Aunt Jane"; and it was a relief to find the boy took it that way. So he
smiled, merely--or fancied he did. But Roy was quick-sighted; and his
first impression had dismayed him.

No hesitation now. He came forward and laid a hand on his father's
shoulder. "Dads, don't get worrying over me--out there," he said with
shy tenderness that was balm after the lacerating scene Nevil had just
passed through. "That'll be all right. Mother explained--beautifully."

But louder t