life. He was standing before the fire in the informal chamber beyond the
dining room, watching his mother's vigorous hands deftly engaged in
embroidery. There was no one present, and a sudden, totally desperate
recklessness possessed him. Isabel Penny said:

"Mr. Winscombe will be here shortly."

"I wish it would be to-night," he declared. She raised her calm gaze
with brows arched in inquiry. "There is something--" he broke off. "She
belongs to me," he said in a low, harsh voice, "and not to that old
man."

Mrs. Penny secured her needle, and put the colourful web aside. She was,
as he had been sure she would be, entirely composed, admirable. Her
questioning look grew keener. "I was afraid of that," she admitted
simply; "after the first. It is very unpleasant and difficult. This is
not London, and your father will make no allowances. You are not any
easier to bend, Howat. With Mrs. Winscombe--" she paused, "I am not
certain. But there is no doubt about the husband."

"She belongs to me," he reiterated sullenly.

"There is no need for you to make yourself offensively clear. I know
something of details of that kind. I told you once that they might mean
only a very little to--to certain women. I am not prepared to judge
about that. But I know you, what bitter feeling you are capable of. You
are a very pure man, Howat; and for that reason such an occurrence would
tear you up and across. There is no use in begging you to be cautious,
diplomatic. Mr. Winscombe, too, is very determined; he has many
advantages--maturity, coldness, experience. He won't spare you, either.
It's excessively unfortunate."

"I'll get it over as quickly as possible. I didn't want the thing to
happen, it wasn't from any choice; it hit me like a bullet. Nothing else
is of the slightest importance. I've gone over this again and again;
I'll tell him and let him try what he can. Ludowika's gone from--from
the fireworks and fiddles and stinking courts; I've got her, and, by
God, I'll keep her!"

"Talk quietly; you can't shout yourself into this. Are you certain that
Mrs. Winscombe really finds the courts--stinking? I remember, at first,"
she stopped. Even in the midst of his passion he listened for what
revelation she might make; but none followed. She was silent for a
minute. "They become a habit," she said finally; "love, loves, become a
habit. Only men brought up in the same atmosphere can understand. At
first Felix Winscombe will be infuriated