that May, still in his pyjamas, knelt on the
cushioned recess within and looked out at the morning.

"Good lord, old chap!" he cried, "Needn't ask you if you have slept.
It's nearly nine o'clock."

But the other made no response whatever. He continued to gaze far away
over Henry's head at the sunrise, while the morning breeze moved his
dark hair.

"Tom! Wake up!" shouted Lennox again; but still the other did not move
a muscle. Then Henry noticed that he was unusually pale, and something
about his unwinking eyes also seemed foreign to an intelligent
expression. They were set, and no movement of light played upon them. It
seemed that the watcher was in a trance. Henry felt his heart jump,
and a sensation of alarm sharpened his thought. For him the morning was
suddenly transformed, and fearing an evil thing had indeed befallen the
other, he turned to the terrace and entered the breakfast-room from it.
The time was now five minutes to nine, and as unfailing punctuality had
ever been a foible of Sir Walter, his guests usually respected it. Most
of them were already assembled, and Mary May, who was just stepping into
the garden, asked Henry if he had seen her husband.

"He's always the first to get up and the last to go to bed," she said.

Bidding her good-morning, but not answering her question, the young man
hastened through the room and ascended to the corridor. Beneath, Ernest
Travers, a being of fussy temperament with a heart of gold, spoke
to Colonel Vane. Travers was clad in Sunday black, for he respected
tradition.

"Forgive me, won't you, but this is your first visit, and you don't look
much like church."

"Must we go to church, too?" asked the colonel blankly. He was still a
year under forty, but had achieved distinction in the war. "There is
no 'must' about it, but Sir Walter would appreciate the effort on your
part. He likes his guests to go. He is one of those men who are a light
to this generation--an ancient light, if you like, but a shining one.
He loves sound maxims. You may say he runs his life on sound maxims. He
lives charitably with all men and it puzzles him, as it puzzles me, to
understand the growing doubt, the class prejudice--nay, class hatred
the failure of trust and the increasing tension and uneasiness between
employer and employed. He and I are agreed that the tribulations of
the present time can be traced to two disasters only--the lack of
goodwill--as shown in the proletariat, whose lea