n fluff drifted by....

When, two hours later, he entered the kitchen at home, of the company
assembled Frances Freeland alone retained equanimity enough to put up
her face to be kissed.

"I'm so thankful you've come back in time to see your uncles, darling.
Your Uncle John thinks, and we all agree, that to encourage those poor
laborers to do things which are not nice is--is--you know what I mean,
darling!"

Derek gave a bitter little laugh.

"Criminal, Granny! Yes, and puppyish! I've learned all that."

The sound of his voice was utterly unlike his own, and Kirsteen,
starting forward, put her arm round him.

"It's all right, Mother. They've chucked me."

At that moment, when all, save his mother, wanted so to express their
satisfaction, Frances Freeland alone succeeded.

"I'm so glad, darling!"

Then John rose and, holding out his hand to his nephew, said:

"That's the end of the trouble, then, Derek?"

"Yes. And I beg your pardon, Uncle John; and all--Uncle Stanley, Uncle
Felix; you, Dad; Granny."

They had all risen now. The boy's face gave them--even John, even
Stanley--a choke in the throat. Frances Freeland suddenly took their
arms and went to the door; her other two sons followed. And quietly they
all went out.

Derek, who had stayed perfectly still, staring past Nedda into a corner
of the room, said:

"Ask him what he wants, Mother."

Nedda smothered down a cry. But Kirsteen, tightening her clasp of him
and looking steadily into that corner, answered:

"Nothing, my boy. He's quite friendly. He only wants to be with you for
a little."

"But I can't do anything for him."

"He knows that."

"I wish he wouldn't, Mother. I can't be more sorry than I have been."

Kirsteen's face quivered.

"My dear, it will go quite soon. Love Nedda! See! She wants you!"

Derek answered in the same quiet voice:

"Yes, Nedda is the comfort. Mother, I want to go away--away out of
England--right away."

Nedda rushed and flung her arms round him.

"I, too, Derek; I, too!"

That evening Felix came out to the old 'fly,' waiting to take him from
Joyfields to Becket. What a sky! All over its pale blue a far-up wind
had drifted long, rosy clouds, and through one of them the half-moon
peered, of a cheese-green hue; and, framed and barred by the elm-trees,
like some roseate, stained-glass window, the sunset blazed. In a corner
of the orchard a little bonfire had been lighted, and round it he could
see the th