“You will see your aunt off, Richard,” said Mr. Hazlewood.

“Of course.”

The Pettifers and Dick went out into the hall, leaving the old man in his chair, a little absent, perhaps a little troubled.

“Aunt Margaret, you have been upsetting my father,” said Dick.

“Nonsense, Dick,” she replied, and her face flushed.  She stepped into the carriage quickly to avoid questions, and as she stepped in Dick noticed that she was carrying a little paper-covered book.  Pettifer followed.  “Good-night, Dick,” he said, and he shook hands with his nephew very warmly.  In spite of his cordiality, however, Dick’s face grew hard as he watched the carriage drive away.  Stella was right.  The Pettifers were the enemy.  Well, he had always known there would be a fight, and now the sooner it came the better.  He went back to the library and as he opened the door he heard his father’s voice.  The old man was sitting sunk in his chair and repeating to himself: 

“I won’t believe it.  I won’t believe it.”

He stopped at once when Dick came in.  Dick looked at him with concern.

“You are tired, father,” he said.

“Yes, I think I am a little.  I’ll go to bed.”

Hazlewood watched Dick walk over to the corner table where the candles stood beside the tray, and his face cleared.  For the first time in his life the tidy well-groomed conventional look of his son was a real pleasure to him.  Richard was of those to whom the good-will of the world meant much.  He would never throw it lightly away.  Hazlewood got up and took one of the candles from his son.  He patted him on the shoulder.  He became quite at ease as he looked into his face.

“Good-night, my boy,” he said.

“Good-night, sir,” replied Dick cheerfully.  “There’s nothing like acting up to one’s theories, is there?”

“Nothing,” said the old man heartily.  “Look at my life!”

“Yes,” replied Dick.  “And now look at mine.  I am going to marry Stella Ballantyne.”

For a moment Mr. Hazlewood stood perfectly still.  Then he murmured lamely: 

“Oh, are you?  Are you, Richard?” and he shuffled quickly out of the room.

CHAPTER XVIII

MR. HAZLEWOOD SEEKS ADVICE

As Dick was getting out of bed at half-past seven a troubled little note was brought to him written hurriedly and almost incoherent.

“Dick, I can’t ride with you this morning.  I am too tired ... and I don’t think we should meet again.  You must forget last night.  I shall be very proud always to remember it, but I won’t ruin you, Dick.  You mustn’t think I shall suffer so very much ...”  Dick read it all through with a smile of tenderness upon his face.  He wrote a line in reply.  “I will come and see you at eleven, Stella.  Meanwhile sleep, my dear,” and sent it across to the cottage.  Then he rolled back into bed again and took his own advice.  It was late when he came down into the dining-room and he took his breakfast alone.