“Matthew,” demanded his sister, “why did he want to go fighting with all those people?”

“Because he was dotty,” supplied Moreton, who had an interesting habit of picking up slang.

“It wasn’t at all,” cried Matthew, indignantly, interrupting Maude’s rebuke of his brother.

“What was it, then?” Moreton demanded.

“You wouldn’t understand if I told you,” Matthew was retorting, when Maude put her hand on his lips.

“I think that’s enough for to-night,” she said, as she closed the book.  “There are lessons to do—­and father wants to read his newspaper in quiet.”

This brought a protest from Biddy.

“Just a little more, mother!  Can’t we go into the schoolroom?  We shan’t disturb father there.”

“I’ll read to them—­a few minutes,” I said.

As I took the volume from her and sat down Maude shot at me a swift look of surprise.  Even Matthew glanced at me curiously; and in his glance I had, as it were, a sudden revelation of the boy’s perplexity concerning me.  He was twelve, rather tall for his age, and the delicate modelling of his face resembled my father’s.  He had begun to think..  What did he think of me?

Biddy clapped her hands, and began to dance across the carpet.

“Father’s going to read to us, father’s going to read to us,” she cried, finally clambering up on my knee and snuggling against me.

“Where is the place?” I asked.

But Maude had left the room.  She had gone swiftly and silently.

“I’ll find it,” said Moreton.

I began to read, but I scarcely knew what I was reading, my fingers tightening over Biddy’s little knee....

Presently Miss Allsop, the governess, came in.  She had been sent by Maude.  There was wistfulness in Biddy’s voice as I kissed her good night.

“Father, if you would only read oftener!” she said, “I like it when you read—­better than anyone else."....

Maude and I were alone that night.  As we sat in the library after our somewhat formal, perfunctory dinner, I ventured to ask her why she had gone away when I had offered to read.

“I couldn’t bear it, Hugh,” she answered.

“Why?” I asked, intending to justify myself.

She got up abruptly, and left me.  I did not follow her.  In my heart I understood why....

Some years had passed since Ralph’s prophecy had come true, and Perry and the remaining Blackwoods had been “relieved” of the Boyne Street line.  The process need not be gone into in detail, being the time-honoured one employed in the Ribblevale affair of “running down” the line, or perhaps it would be better to say “showing it up.”  It had not justified its survival in our efficient days, it had held out—­thanks to Perry—­with absurd and anachronous persistence against the inevitable consolidation.  Mr. Tallant’s newspaper had published many complaints of the age and scarcity of the cars, etc.; and alarmed holders of securities, in whose vaults they had lain since time immemorial, began to sell....  I saw little of Perry in those days, as I have explained, but one day I met him in the Hambleton Building, and he was white.