n the dust. It was not he who had flung it there, yet his
soul cried out in bitter self-reproach. This was the man who had been
closer to him than a brother, the man who had saved him from disaster
physically and morally, watching over him with a grim tenderness that
nothing had ever changed.

And now it was all done with. There was nothing left but to turn and go.

But could he? He stood irresolute, biting his lips, held there by a
force that seemed outside himself. And it was Everard who made the first
move, turning from him as if he had ceased to count and pulling out a
note-book that he always carried to make some entry.

Tommy stood yet a moment longer as if, had it been possible, he would
have broken through the barrier between them even then. But Everard did
not so much as glance in his direction, and the moment passed.

In utter silence he turned and went out as he had entered. There was
nothing more to be said.

CHAPTER VIII

PETER

Tessa went back to the Ralstons' bungalow that night borne in Bernard's
arms. She knew very little about it, for she scarcely awoke, only dimly
realizing that her friend was at hand. Tommy went with them, carrying
Scooter. He said he must show himself at the Club, though Bernard
suspected this to be merely an excuse for escaping for a time from The
Green Bungalow. For it was evident that Tommy had had a shock.

He himself was merely angry at what appeared to him a wanton trick, too
angry to trust himself in his brother's company just then. He regarded
it as no part of his business to attempt to intervene between Everard
and his wife, but his sympathies were all with the latter. That she in
some fashion misconstrued the whole affair he could not doubt, but he
was by no means sure that Everard had not deliberately schemed for some
species of misunderstanding. He had, to serve his own ends, personated a
man who was apparently known to be disreputable, and if he now received
the credit for that man's misdeeds he had himself alone to thank.
Obviously a mistake had been made, but it seemed to him that Everard had
intended it to be made, had even worked to bring it about. What his
object had been Bernard could not bring to conjecture. But his
instinctive, inborn hatred of all underhand dealings made him resent his
brother's behaviour with all the force at his command. He was too angry
to attempt to unravel the mystery, and he did not broach the subject to
Tommy who evident