se big beech woods are rather a
puzzle to anybody who is not familiar with the country. No wonder she
became frightened when it grew dark."

"It was--very distressing," nodded his father.

They remained silent again until Mr. Neville rose, took off his
spectacles, laid aside _The Evening Post_, and held out his hand.

"Good-night, my son."

"Good-night, father."

"Yes--yes--good-night--good-night--to many, many things, my son;
old-fashioned things of no value any more--of no use to me, or you, or
anybody any more."

He retained his son's hand in his, peering at him, dim-eyed, without his
spectacles:

"The old order passes--the old ideas, the old beliefs--and the old
people who cherished them--who know no others, needed no others....
Good-night, my son."

But he made no movement to leave, and still held to his son's hand:

"I've tried to live as blamelessly as my father lived, Louis--and as God
has given me to see my way through life.... But--the times change
so--change so. The times are perplexing; life grows noisier, and
stranger and more complex and more violent every day around us--and the
old require repose, Louis. Try to understand that."

"Yes, father."

The other looked at him, wearily:

"Your mother seems to think that your happiness in life depends on--what
we say to you--this evening. Stephanie seems to believe it, too.... Lily
says very little.... And so do I, Louis--very little ... only enough
to--to wish you--happiness. And so--good-night."

CHAPTER XV

It was barely daylight when Valerie awoke. She lay perfectly still,
listening, remembering, her eyes wandering over the dim, unfamiliar
room. Through thin silk curtains a little of the early light penetrated;
she heard the ceaseless chorus of the birds, cocks crowing near and far
away, the whimpering flight of pigeons around the eaves above her
windows, and their low, incessant cooing.

Suddenly, through the foot-bars of her bed she caught sight of Stephanie
lying sound asleep on the couch, and she sat up--swiftly, noiselessly,
staring at her out of wide eyes from which the last trace of dreams had
fled.

For a long while she remained upright among her pillows, looking at
Stephanie, remembering, considering; then, with decision, she slipped
silently out of bed, and went about her dressing without a sound.

In the connecting bath-room and dressing-room beyond she found her
clothing gathered in a heap, evidently to be taken away