of crimson in the old man's
face had frightened him.

"Leave it there."

The unfortunate valet placed the bottle on the little table. 'I'll have
to tell her,' he thought; 'but if I take away the port decanter and the
glass, it won't look so bad.' And, carrying them, he left the room.

Slowly the old man drank his coffee, and the liqueur of brandy. The
whole gamut! And watching his cigar-smoke wreathing blue in the orange
glow, he smiled. The last night to call his soul his own, the last night
of his independence. Send in his resignations to-morrow--not wait to be
kicked off! Not give that fellow a chance!

A voice which seemed to come from far off, said:

"Father! You're drinking brandy! How can you--you know it's simple
poison to you!" A figure in white, scarcely actual, loomed up close. He
took the bottle to fill up his liqueur glass, in defiance; but a hand
in a long white glove, with another dangling from its wrist, pulled it
away, shook it at him, and replaced it in the sideboard. And, just as
when Mr. Ventnor stood there accusing him, a swelling and churning in
his throat prevented him from speech; his lips moved, but only a little
froth came forth.

His daughter had approached again. She stood quite close, in white
satin, thin-faced, sallow, with eyebrows raised, and her dark hair
frizzed--yes! frizzed--the holy woman! With all his might he tried to
say: 'So you bully me, do you--you bully me to-night!' but only the word
"so" and a sort of whispering came forth. He heard her speaking. "It's
no good your getting angry, Father. After champagne--it's wicked!" Then
her form receded in a sort of rustling white mist; she was gone; and he
heard the sputtering and growling of her taxi, bearing her to the ball.
So! She tyrannised and bullied, even before she had him at her mercy,
did she? She should see! Anger had brightened his eyes; the room came
clear again. And slowly raising himself he sounded the bell twice, for
the girl, not for that fellow Meller, who was in the plot. As soon as
her pretty black and white-aproned figure stood before him, he said:

"Help me up."

Twice her soft pulling was not enough, and he sank back. The third time
he struggled to his feet.

"Thank you; that'll do." Then, waiting till she was gone, he crossed the
room, fumbled open the sideboard door, and took out the bottle. Reaching
over the polished oak, he grasped a sherry glass; and holding the bottle
with both hands, tipped the l