, but because she was devoid of that scornful tang which clung
about her brother. No! Sheila was not mild. Rich-colored, downright
of speech, with her mane of short hair, she was a no less startling
companion. The smile of Felix had never been more whimsically employed
than during that ten-day visit. The evening John Freeland came to dinner
was the highwater mark of his alarmed amusement. Mr. Cuthcott, also
bidden, at Nedda's instigation, seemed to take a mischievous delight in
drawing out those two young people in face of their official uncle.
The pleasure of the dinner to Felix--and it was not too great--was in
watching Nedda's face. She hardly spoke, but how she listened! Nor did
Derek say much, but what he did say had a queer, sarcastic twinge about
it.

"An unpleasant young man," was John's comment afterward. "How the deuce
did he ever come to be Tod's son? Sheila, of course, is one of these
hot-headed young women that make themselves a nuisance nowadays, but
she's intelligible. By the way, that fellow Cuthcott's a queer chap!"

One subject of conversation at dinner had been the morality of
revolutionary violence. And the saying that had really upset John had
been Derek's: "Conflagration first--morality afterward!" He had looked
at his nephew from under brows which a constant need for rejecting
petitions to the Home Office had drawn permanently down and in toward
the nose, and made no answer.

To Felix these words had a more sinister significance. With his juster
appreciation both of the fiery and the official points of view, his far
greater insight into his nephew than ever John would have, he saw that
they were more than a mere arrow of controversy. And he made up his mind
that night that he would tackle his nephew and try to find out exactly
what was smouldering within that crisp, black pate.

Following him into the garden next morning, he said to himself: 'No
irony--that's fatal. Man to man--or boy to boy--whichever it is!' But,
on the garden path, alongside that young spread-eagle, whose dark,
glowering, self-contained face he secretly admired, he merely began:

"How do you like your Uncle John?"

"He doesn't like me, Uncle Felix."

Somewhat baffled, Felix proceeded:

"I say, Derek, fortunately or unfortunately, I've some claim now to a
little knowledge of you. You've got to open out a bit to me. What
are you going to do with yourself in life? You can't support Nedda on
revolution."

Having drawn th