“I do not think,” I answered, “that I care about accepting any favours from you just now, Colonel Ray.  Nor am I at all sure that I need them,” I added.

He turned on his heel, but at the door he hesitated again.

“Guy,” he said in a low tone, “will you speak to me for a moment outside?”

I stood on the landing with him.  He closed the door leading into the sitting-room.

“Guy,” he said, “you know that if I leave you behind, you link your lot with—­them.  You will be an outcast and a fugitive all your days.  You will have to avoid every place where the English language is spoken.  You will never be able to recover your honour, you will be the scorn of all Englishmen and English—­women.  I speak to you for your mother’s sake, boy.  You have started life with a cursed heritage.  I want to make allowance for it.”

I looked him straight in the face.

“I am afraid, Colonel Ray,” I said, “that you are not inclined to give me credit for very much common sense.  Take those papers to Lord Chelsford.  I will come round to your rooms as soon as possible.”

He looked at me with eager, searching gaze.

“You mean this?”

“Certainly!” I answered.

He seemed about to say something, but changed his mind.  He left me without another word.  I stepped back into the sitting-room.  My father, with an empty tumbler in his hand, was crouched forward over the table, breathing heavily.  My stepmother, with marble ’face and hard set eyes, was leaning forward in her chair, looking into the dying fire.  She scarcely glanced at me as I entered.

“Has he gone?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered.  “Will you get ready, please?  I want to take you to the Duke.”

She rose to her feet at once, and moved towards the door.  I was left alone with my father, but he never stirred during her absence, nor did I speak to him.  She returned in a few minutes, dressed very quietly, and wearing a veil which completely obscured her features.  We walked to the corner of the square, and then I called a hansom.

“I know nothing about Lord Blenavon,” she said, a little wearily.  “I suppose the Duke will not believe that, but it is true.”

“You can do no more than tell the truth,” I remarked.

“Tell me what he is like—­the Duke?” she asked abruptly.

“He is a typical man of his class,” I answered.  “He is stiff, obstinate, punctilious, with an extreme sense of honour, to gratify which, by-the-bye, he has just deliberately pauperized himself.  He will not remind you in the least of Lord Blenavon.”

“I should imagine not,” she answered.

Then there was a short silence, and I could see that she was crying under her veil.  I laid my hand upon hers.

“I am afraid,” I said gently, “that I have misled you a little.  You are worrying about me, and it isn’t half so necessary as you imagine.  You thought me mad to listen to my father’s offer, and a coward to give up those papers to Ray.  Isn’t that so?”