He looked from one to the other of his companions, but neither answered him.  Some uneasiness indeed was apparent in them both.

“Oho!” he said with a smile.  “Stella’s coming over and I know nothing of it.  Mr. Thresk’s lazy, so remains at Little Beeding and delivers a lecture to me over breakfast.  And you, father, seem in remarkable spirits.”

Mr. Hazlewood seized upon the opportunity to interrupt his son’s reflections.

“I am, my boy,” he cried.  “I walked in the fields this morning and—­” But he got no further with his explanations, for the sound of Mrs. Pettifer’s voice rang high in the hall and she burst into the room.

“Harold, I have only a moment.  Good morning, Mr. Thresk,” she cried in a breath.  “I have something to say to you.”

Thresk was disturbed.  Suppose that Stella came while Mrs. Pettifer was here!  She must not speak in Mrs. Pettifer’s presence.  Somehow Mrs. Pettifer must be dismissed.  No such anxiety, however, harassed Mr. Hazlewood.

“Say it, Margaret,” he said, smiling benignantly upon her.  “You cannot annoy me this morning.  I am myself again,” and Dick’s eyes turned sharply upon him.  “All my old powers of observation have returned, my old interest in the great dark riddle of human life has re-awakened.  The brain, the sedulous, active brain, resumes its work to-day asking questions, probing problems.  I rose early, Margaret,” he flourished his hands like one making a speech, “and walking in the fields amongst the cows a most curious speculation forced itself upon my mind.  How is it, I asked myself—­”

It seemed that Mr. Hazlewood was destined never to complete a sentence that morning, for Margaret Pettifer at this point banged her umbrella upon the floor.

“Stop talking, Harold, and listen to me!  I have been speaking with Robert and we withdraw all opposition to Dick’s marriage.”

Mr. Hazlewood was dumfoundered.

“You, Margaret—­you of all people!” he stammered.

“Yes,” she replied decisively.  “Robert likes her and Robert is a good judge of a woman.  That’s one thing.  Then I believe Dick is going to take St. Quentins; isn’t that so, Dick?”

“Yes,” answered Dick.  “That’s the house we looked over yesterday.”

“Well, it’s not a couple of a hundred yards from us, and it would not be comfortable for any of us if Dick and Dick’s wife were strangers.  So I give in.  There, Dick!” She went across the room and held out her hand to him.  “I am going to call on Stella this afternoon.”

Dick flushed with pleasure.

“That’s splendid, Aunt Margaret.  I knew you were all right, you know.  You put on a few frills at first, of course, but you are forgiven.”

Mr. Hazlewood made so complete a picture of dismay that Dick could not but pity him.  He went across to his father.

“Now, sir,” he said, “let us hear this problem.”

The old man was not proof against the invitation.