s lordship's nephew, and his interest had grown so marked
that Michael Duveen had spoken to him, had received an insolent reply
and had struck down the noble youth with one blow of his formidable
fist. The episode had terminated Duveen's career as a trainer.

Thereafter had begun the nomadic life, with its recurrent phases of
brawls, drunken debauches by her father, occasional brief intervals of
prosperity and longer ones of abject poverty. Lower Charleswood had
seemed as an oasis in the wilderness and the employment offered by Sir
Jacques too bountiful to be real. Nevertheless, it was real enough, and
all went well for a season. Michael Duveen gave the bottle a go-by, and
the first real home that Flamby had known established its altars in
Dovelands Cottage. The understanding between father and daughter was
complete and was rendered more perfect by the necessity for
companionship experienced by both. Poor Mrs. Duveen possessed the
personality of a chameleon, readily toning with any background; but
intellectually she was never present. Why Michael Duveen had selected
such a mate was a mystery which Flamby, who loved her mother the more
dearly for her helplessness, could never solve. It was a mystery to
which Duveen, in his darker moods, devoted himself cruelly, and many
were the nights that Flamby had sobbed herself to sleep, striving to
deafen her ears to the hateful insults and merciless taunts which Duveen
would hurl at his wife.

Following such an outburst, Michael Duveen would exhibit penitence
which was almost as shocking as his brutality--but it was always to
Flamby that he came for forgiveness, bringing some love-gift which he
would proffer shamefacedly, tears trembling in his eyes.

"Ask your mother to come into town with me, Flamby asthore; I've seen a
fine coat at Dale's that'll make her heart glad."

It was invariably the same, and never was the olive branch rejected for
a moment by his long-suffering wife. Hers was the dog-like fidelity
which men of Duveen's pattern have the gift of inspiring in women, and
had he been haled to the felon's dock she would gladly and proudly have
stood beside her man. So the years stole by, and Flamby crept nearer to
womanhood and closer to her father's heart. The drinking-bouts grew less
frequent and only once again did Duveen offer violence to his wife. It
was on the occasion of a house-party at Hatton Towers, and a racy young
French commercial man who was one of Sir Jacqu