erent words were.

"What was I to do? How could I break abruptly with the old methods, as
you suggested? It had to come gradually. You know nothing of business,
Peter--nothing." His voice ran up the scale of protesting self-defence.

"Nothing," Peter admitted drearily. Hilary's shame before him could
hardly now add to the badness of the situation, as it had once done; the
badness of situations has a limit, and this one had reached its limit
some three hours since, just before he had laughed in Lord Evelyn's
drawing-room.

"Oh," said Peter, very tired suddenly, "never mind me; what does that
matter? The point is ... well, you see the point, naturally."

Yes, Hilary saw the point. With a faint groan he ran his fingers through
his hair and began to pace up and down the room in agitation.

He said, "That brute Cheriton.... An execrable bounder; I always knew it.
What _right_ had he?... It's too horrible, too abominable.... Just when
we were doing our best to get the thing onto straight lines...." He
wheeled about and paced back again, with quick, uneven steps. Between him
and the motionless Peter, Peggy stood, looking from one to the other. Her
merry eyes were quite grave now. The situation was certainly appalling.

"We must leave Venice," said Peggy, on a sigh. That seemed, certainly,
the only thing to be done.

Hilary groaned again.

"Oh, Lord, what are we let in for? What will be the result, if he
prosecutes? It may be utter ruin.... I know nothing of these things.
Of course, in justice nothing could be done to us--for, after all, what
harm have we done? Anyone may insert advertisements for pay, and it only
amounted to that.... But justice isn't taken into much account in the
law-courts.... It is a horrible, cast-iron system--the relic of a
barbarous age.... I don't know what we mayn't be in for, or how we
shall come out of it. You don't know either, Peter; you know nothing
of law--nothing. It mustn't come into court; that is unthinkable. We will
make full apologies--any restitution within our power that Lord Evelyn
demands.... I shall go there; I shall see him about it, and appeal to his
better feelings. He has been a friend of mine. He has always been good to
you, Peter. The memory of your mother.... Appeal to that. You must go to
him and see what can be done. Yes, it had better be you; he has a kinder
feeling for you, I believe, than for me."

"He has no kind feeling for me," said Peter dully. "He is more ann