“King’s Bench Walk,” he muttered to himself, taking from the drawer of his writing-table a slip of paper on which he had written the address lest he should forget it.  “Yes, that’s the address,” and he looked at it for a long time very doubtfully.  Suppose that his suspicions were correct!  His heart sank at the supposition.  Surely he would be justified in setting any trap.  But he shut the drawer violently and turned away from his writing-table.  Even his pamphlets had become trivial in his eyes.  He was brought face to face with real passions and real facts, he had been fetched out from his cloister and was blinking miserably in a full measure of daylight.  How long could he endure it, he wondered?

The question was settled for him that very evening.  He and his son were taking their coffee on a paved terrace by the lawn after dinner.  It was a dark quiet night, with a clear sky of golden stars.  Across the meadow the lights shone in the windows of Stella’s cottage.

“Father,” said Dick, after they had sat in a constrained silence for a little while, “why don’t you like Stella any longer?”

The old man blustered in reply: 

“A lawyer’s question, Richard.  I object to it very strongly.  You assume that I have ceased to like her.”

“It’s extremely evident,” said Dick drily.  “Stella has noticed it.”

“And complained to you of course,” cried Mr. Hazlewood resentfully.

“Stella doesn’t complain,” and then Dick leaned over and spoke in the full quiet voice which his father had grown to dread.  There rang in it so much of true feeling and resolution.

“There can be no backing down now.  We are both agreed upon that, aren’t we?  Imagine for an instant that I were first to blazon my trust in a woman whom others suspected by becoming engaged to her and then endorsed their suspicions by breaking off the engagement!  Suppose that I were to do that!”

Mr. Hazlewood allowed his longings to lead him astray.  For a moment he hoped.

“Well?” he asked eagerly.

“You wouldn’t think very much of me, would you?  Not you nor any man.  A cur—­that would be the word, the only word, wouldn’t it?”

But Mr. Hazlewood refused to answer that question.  He looked behind him to make sure that none of the servants were within hearing.  Then he lowered his voice to a whisper.

“What if Stella has deceived you, Dick?”

It was too dark for him to see the smile upon his son’s face, but he heard the reply, and the confidence of it stung him to exasperation.

“She hasn’t done that,” said Dick.  “If you are sure of nothing else, sir, you may be quite certain of what I am telling you now.  She hasn’t done that.”

He remained silent for a few moments waiting for any rejoinder, and getting none he continued: 

“There’s something else I wanted to speak to you about.”

“Yes?”

“The date of our marriage.”