his brother, "and it isn't all snobbery on my
part."

"The safest thing to do," said Neville bitterly, "is to let a man in
love alone."

"Right. Foolish--damned foolish--but right! There is no greater ass than
a wise one. Those who don't know anything at all are the better
asses--and the happier."

And he went away down the stairs, muttering and gesticulating.

Mrs. Neville came to the door as he opened it to go out. They talked in
low voices for a few moments, then the doctor went out and Mrs. Neville
called to Stephanie.

The girl came from the lighted drawing-room, and, together, the two
women ascended the stairs.

Stephanie smiled and nodded to Neville, then continued on along the
hall; but his mother stopped to speak to him.

"Go and sit with your father a little while," she said. "And don't be
impatient with him, dear. He is an old man--a product of a different age
and a simpler civilisation--perhaps a narrower one. Be patient and
gentle with him. He really is fond of you and proud of you."

"Very well, mother.... Is anybody going to sit up with Valerie?"

"Stephanie insists on sleeping on the couch at the foot of her bed. I
offered to sit up but she wouldn't let me.... You'll see that I'm called
if anything happens, won't you?"

"Yes. Good-night, mother."

He kissed her, stood a moment looking at the closed door behind which
lay Valerie--tried to realise that she did lie there under the same
roof-tree that sheltered father, mother, and sister--then, with a
strange thrill in his heart, he went downstairs.

Cameron passed him, on his upward way to slumberland.

"How's Miss West?" he asked cheerfully.

"Asleep, I think. Billy Ogilvy expects her to be all right in the
morning."

"Good work! Glad of it. Tell your governor; he's been inquiring."

"Has he?" said Neville, with another thrill, and went into the living
room where his father sat alone before the whitening ashes of the fire.

"Well, father!" he said, smiling.

The older man turned his head, then turned it away as his son drew up a
chair and laid a stick across the andirons.

"It's turned a little chilly," he said.

"I have known of many a frost in May," said his father.

There was a silence; then his father slowly turned and gazed at him.

"How is--Miss West?" he asked stiffly.

"Billy Ogilvy says she will be all right to-morrow, father."

"Was she injured by her unfortunate experience?"

"A little briar-torn, I'm afraid. Tho