of that. She was no child to be abashed by
sarcasm, but a woman, completed and perfected by her love.

"Excuse me," she said sharply; "but that is not the truth, and you
know it. You know as well as I do that your son would never say a word
against you."

Sir John looked hastily round. Lady Cantourne had come into the room
and was talking to the two young people: Millicent was glancing uneasily
over Mr. Grubb's brainless cranium towards them. Sir John's stiff,
unsteady fingers fumbled for a moment round his lips.

"Yes," he said, "I was wrong."

"He has always spoken of you with the greatest love and respect," said
Jocelyn; "more than that, with admiration. But he very rarely spoke of
you at all, which I think means more."

Sir John blinked, and suddenly pulled himself together with a backward
jerk of the arms which was habitual with him. It almost seemed as if he
said to himself, as he squared his shoulders, "Come, no giving way to
old age!"

"Has his health been good?" he asked, rather formally.

"I believe so, until quite lately. My brother heard yesterday by
telegram that he was at Loango in broken health," replied Jocelyn.

Sir John was looking at her keenly--his hard blue eyes like steel
between the lashless lids.

"You disquiet me," he said. "I have a sort of feeling that you have bad
news to tell me."

"No," she answered, "not exactly. But it seems to me that no one
realises what he is doing out in Africa--what risks he is running."

"Tell me," he said, drawing in his chair. "I will not interrupt you.
Tell me all you know from beginning to end. I am naturally--somewhat
interested."

So Jocelyn told him. And what she said was only a recapitulation of
facts known to such as have followed these pages to this point. But the
story did not sound quite the same as that related to Millicent. It was
fuller, and there were certain details touched upon lightly which had
before been emphasised--details of dangers run and risks incurred. Also
was it listened to in a different spirit, without shallow comment, with
a deeper insight. Suddenly he broke into the narrative. He saw--keen old
worldling that he was--a discrepancy.

"But," he said, "there was no one in Loango connected with the scheme
who"--he paused, touching her sleeve with a bony finger--"who sent the
telegram home to young Oscard--the telegram calling him out to Jack's
relief?"

"Oh," she explained lightly, "I did. My brother was away, so there