of late he had spent a good deal of time in
rooms not exactly arranged for purposes of study--but for this there was
a special reason.

An hour later, when most of the visitors were departed, he went to
Beatrice's corner of the room.

'When shall I call for you?' he asked, standing before her.

'Oh, but you will dine here?'

She leaned forward, looking up into his face. The gaze would have
intoxicated most men; Wilfrid kept his calm smile.

'No, I am sorry to say I can't,' was his reply. 'I have things to see to
at home. Will 8.15 do?'

'Quite well; I need not be at the hall before a quarter to nine.'

His father came up.

'Walking my way, Wilf?'

'Yes, and in a hurry. I think we must have a hansom.'

Father and son still lived together, in the same house as formerly.
After a brief stretch of pavement, they hailed a conveyance.

'Going to St. James's Hall, I suppose?' Mr. Athel asked, as they drove
on.

Wilfrid gave an affirmative.

'Is it the last time?'

The other laughed.

'I can't say. I fear it troubles you.'

Mr. Athel had, we know, long passed the time when the ardours of youth
put him above the prejudices of the solid Englishman. When it was first
announced to him that Beatrice was going to sing on a public platform,
he screwed up his lips as if something acid had fallen upon them; he
scarcely credited the story till his own eyes saw the girl's name in
print. 'What the deuce!' was his exclamation. 'It would be all very well
if she had to do it for her living, but she certainly owes it to her
friends to preserve the decencies as long as there is no need to violate
them.' The reasons advanced he utterly refused to weigh. Since then
events had come to pass which gave him even a nearer interest in Miss
Redwing, and his protests had grown serious.

'Why, yes,' he answered now, 'it does trouble me, and not a little. I
very strongly advise you to put an end to it. Let her sing in her
friends' houses; there's no objection to that. But to have her name
on--great heavens!--on placards! No, no; it must stop, Wilf. Every day
it becomes more imperative. Your position demands that she should become
a private lady.'

Wilfrid knew well that the question could not be argued, and, in his
secret mind, there was just a little tendency to take his father's view.
He would never have allowed this shade of thought to appear in his
speech; but was he not an Englishman and a member of Parliament?

This which ha