“Oh, here you are!” Airily Guy Bathurst advanced to meet him.  “Don’t let me interrupt your drink!  I only want a few words with you.”

“I’ll fetch another glass, sir” murmured the discreet man-servant, and vanished.

Scott stood, stiff and uncompromising, by his chair.  There was a hint of hostility in his bearing.  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

Bathurst ignored his attitude with that ease of manner of which he was a past-master.  “Well I thought perhaps you could give me news of Dinah” he said.  “Billy tells me he left you with her this morning.”

“I see” said Scott.  He looked at the other man with level, unblinking eyes.  “You are beginning to feel a little anxious about her?” he questioned.

“Well, I think it’s about time she came home,” said Bathurst.  He took out a cigarette and lighted it.  “Her mother is wondering what has become of her,” he added, between the puffs.

“I posted a letter to Mrs. Bathurst about an hour ago,” said Scott.  “She will get it in the morning.”

“Indeed!” Bathurst glanced at him.  “And is her whereabouts to remain a mystery until then?”

“That letter will reassure you as to her safety,” Scott returned quietly.  “But it will not enlighten you as to her whereabouts.  She is in good hands, and it is not her intention to return home—­at least for the present.  Under the circumstances you could scarcely compel her to do so.”

“I never compel her to do anything,” said Bathurst comfortably.  “Her mother keeps her in order, I have nothing to do with it.”

“Evidently not.”  A sudden sharp quiver of scorn ran through Scott’s words.  “Her mother may make her life a positive hell, but it’s no business of yours!”

A flicker of temper shone for a second in Bathurst’s eyes.  The scorn had penetrated even his thick skin.  “None whatever,” he said deliberately.  “Nor of yours either, so far as I can see.”

“There you are wrong.”  Hotly Scott took him up.  “It is the duty of every man to prevent cruelty.  Dinah has been treated like a bond-slave all her life.  What were you about to allow it?”

He flung the question fiercely.  The man’s careless repudiation of all responsibility aroused in him a perfect storm of indignation.  He was probably more angry at that moment than he had ever been before.

Guy Bathurst stared at him for a second or two, his own resentment quenched in amazement.  Finally he laughed.

“If you were married to my wife, you’d know,” he said.  “Personally I like a quiet life.  Besides, discipline is good for youngsters.  I think Lydia is disposed to carry it rather far, I admit.  But after all, a woman can’t do much damage to her own daughter.  And anyhow it isn’t a man’s business to interfere.”

He broke off as the servant reappeared, and seated himself in a chair on the other side of the fire.  He drank some whisky and water in large, appreciative gulps, and resumed his cigarette.