ear
understanding of the terms; that for the hours they toiled for him he
paid highly, and his responsibility ceased when those hours were over.
If Peter Masters was no philanthropist at least he was no humbug. He
said openly he worked his System because it paid him. If he could have
made more by being philanthropical he would have been so, but he would
not have called it philanthropy: it would have been a financial
method.

The grim selfishness of it all crushed Christopher as an intolerable
burden that was none of his, and yet, because he was here accepting a
part of its results, he could not clear himself of its shadow. So,
twenty-two years ago, had his mother thought until the terror of that
shadow outweighed all dread of further evil, and she had fled from its
shade into a world where sun and shadow were checkered and evil and
good a twisted rope by which to hold.

Some dim note from that long struggle and momentous decision had its
influence with her son now. Without knowing it he was hastening to the
same conclusions she had reached.

He lunched alone and then to escape the persistence of his thoughts
decided to explore the west wing of the house which he had hardly
entered.

At the end of a long corridor a square of yellow sunlight fell across
the purple carpet from an open door and he stopped to look in.

It was a pretty room with three windows opening on to a terrace and a
door communicating with a room beyond. The walls were panelled with
pale blue silk and the chairs and luxurious couches covered with the
same. There were several pictures of great value, on a French writing
table lay an open blotter, but the blotting paper was crumbling and
dry and the ink in the carved brass inkstand was dry also.

In the middle of the room surrounded by a pile of Holland covers and
hangings stood Mrs. Eliot, the housekeeper. Christopher had seen her
once or twice and she was the only servant, except the butler, with
whom he had heard Peter Masters exchange a word. "Lor', sir, how you
made me jump!" she cried at sight of him in the doorway. "It isn't
often one hears a footfall down here, they girls keep away or I'd be
about 'em as they know very well."

"May I come in?" asked Christopher. "What a pretty room."

The woman glanced round hesitatingly. "Well, now, you're here. Yes.
It's pretty enough, sir."

"Are you getting ready for visitors?"

He had no intention of being curious, he was only thankful to find
s