ear the air, is it? What I want to
say is--why not have a row?"

"You can't have a row with a piece of pink silk, can you?" his son
demanded. "I don't want to blame her, but it's no use counting her in;
besides, honestly, Father, I don't care a rap--why should I expect her
to? My marriage was a misdeal."

Sir Peter shook his head. "Men ought to love their wives," he said
solemnly; "in a sense, of course, no fuss about it, and never letting
them know--and not putting oneself out about it! But still there ought
to be something to hold on to, and anyhow the more you stick together,
the more there is, and your going off like this won't improve matters.
Love or no love, marriage is a life."

Winn laughed again. "Life--" he said, "yes--well--how do I know how much
longer I shall have to bother about life?"

There was a silence. Sir Peter's gnarled old hands met above his
blackthorn stick and trembled.

Winn wished he hadn't spoken. He did not know how to tell his father not
to mind. He hadn't really thought his father would mind.

However, there they sat, minding it.

Then Sir Peter said, "I don't believe in consumption, I never have, and
I never shall; besides Taylor says Davos is a very good place for it,
and you're an early case, and it's all damned nonsense, and you've got
to buck up and think no more about it. What I want to hear is that
you're back in your Regiment again. I dare say there'll be trouble later
on, and then where'll you be if you're an invalid--have you ever thought
of that?"

"Yes--that'd be something to live for," Winn said gravely; "trouble."

"You shouldn't be so confoundedly particular," said his father. "Now
look at me--if we did have trouble where'd I be? Nowhere at all--old!
Just gout and newspapers and sons getting up ideas about their lungs,
but when do I complain?

"If you want another L50 any time--I don't say that I can't give it to
you--though the whole thing's damned unremunerative! There's the trap.
Well--good-by."

Winn stood quite still for a moment looking at his father. It might have
been thought by an observer that his eyes, which were remarkably
bright, were offensively critical, but Sir Peter, though he wished the
last moment to end, knew that his son was not being critical.

Then Winn said, "Well--good-by, Father. I'm sure I'm much obliged to
you." And his father said, "Damn everything!" just after the door was
shut.

CHAPTER X

It hadn't seemed dismal at