o art. His sisters had seen the family danger, and had never forgotten
to discount the gold islets that raised them from the sea. Tibby gave
all the praise to himself, and so despised the struggling and the
submerged.

Hence the absurdity of the interview; the gulf between them was economic
as well as spiritual. But several facts passed; Charles pressed for them
with an impertinence that the undergraduate could not withstand. On what
date had Helen gone abroad? To whom? (Charles was anxious to fasten the
scandal on Germany.) Then, changing his tactics, he said roughly: "I
suppose you realise that you are your sister's protector?"

"In what sense?"

"If a man played about with my sister, I'd send a bullet through him,
but perhaps you don't mind."

"I mind very much," protested Tibby.

"Who d'ye suspect, then? Speak out man. One always suspects some one."

"No one. I don't think so." Involuntarily he blushed. He had remembered
the scene in his Oxford rooms.

"You are hiding something," said Charles. As interviews go, he got the
best of this one. "When you saw her last, did she mention any one's
name? Yes or no!" he thundered, so that Tibby started.

"In my rooms she mentioned some friends, called the Basts."

"Who are the Basts?"

"People--friends of hers at Evie's wedding."

"I don't remember. But, by great Scott, I do! My aunt told me about some
rag-tsag. Was she full of them when you saw her? Is there a man? Did she
speak of the man? Or--look here--have you had any dealings with him?"

Tibby was silent. Without intending it, he had betrayed his sister's
confidence; he was not enough interested in human life to see where
things will lead to. He had a strong regard for honesty, and his word,
once given, had always been kept up to now. He was deeply vexed, not
only for the harm he had done Helen, but for the flaw he had discovered
in his own equipment.

"I see--you are in his confidence. They met at your rooms. Oh, what a
family, what a family! God help the poor pater--s."

And Tibby found himself alone.

CHAPTER XL

Leonard--he would figure at length in a newspaper report, but that
evening he did not count for much. The foot of the tree was in shadow,
since the moon was still hidden behind the house. But above, to right,
to left, down the long meadow the moonlight was streaming. Leonard
seemed not a man, but a cause.

Perhaps it was Helen's way of falling in love--a curious way to
Margaret, whos