ice. "You make me uncomfortable." She gave an odd
little grunt of a laugh, and the tip of her tongue went over her lips as
she glanced sharply, half furtively round the room.

"I like looking at you," said Jim, his smile becoming more malicious.

"But you shouldn't, when I tell you not," she returned.

Jim twisted round to look at the state of the bottles. The father also
came awake. He sat up.

"Isn't it time," he said, "that you all put away your glasses and
cigarettes and thought of bed?"

Jim rolled slowly round towards his father, sprawling in the long chair.

"Ah, Dad," he said, "tonight's the night! Tonight's some night,
Dad.--You can sleep any time--" his grin widened--"but there aren't many
nights to sit here--like this--Eh?"

He was looking up all the time into the face of his father, full and
nakedly lifting his face to the face of his father, and smiling fixedly.
The father, who was perfectly sober, except for the contagion from the
young people, felt a wild tremor go through his heart as he gazed on the
face of his boy. He rose stiffly.

"You want to stay?" he said. "You want to stay!--Well then--well then,
I'll leave you. But don't be long." The old man rose to his full height,
rather majestic. The four younger people also rose respectfully--only
Jim lay still prostrate in his chair, twisting up his face towards his
father.

"You won't stay long," said the old man, looking round a little
bewildered. He was seeking a responsible eye. Josephine was the only one
who had any feeling for him.

"No, we won't stay long, Mr. Bricknell," she said gravely.

"Good night, Dad," said Jim, as his father left the room.

Josephine went to the window. She had rather a stiff, _poupee_ walk.

"How is the night?" she said, as if to change the whole feeling in
the room. She pushed back the thick grey-silk curtains. "Why?" she
exclaimed. "What is that light burning? A red light?"

"Oh, that's only the pit-bank on fire," said Robert, who had followed
her.

"How strange!--Why is it burning now?"

"It always burns, unfortunately--it is most consistent at it. It is the
refuse from the mines. It has been burning for years, in spite of all
efforts to the contrary."

"How very curious! May we look at it?" Josephine now turned the handle
of the French windows, and stepped out.

"Beautiful!" they heard her voice exclaim from outside.

In the room, Julia laid her hand gently, protectively over the hand of
Cyril Sc