is father. Ah, that was the difficulty! How
could he refuse without giving the old man some hint of his feelings
regarding Therese?

"Surely," he said at last, with great restraint, "such a trusteeship
isn't necessary. Therese is not a child; she ought to be capable of
managing her own affairs."

Sir Charles's face assumed an expression of obstinacy that Roger knew
well.

"Where money is concerned, Therese is a fool. She has no judgment
whatever, money drips through her fingers. I've no intention of
allowing her to fritter away the property it has taken me a lifetime to
get together. You will find I have tied it up pretty securely. She
won't be able to throw it away, she won't be at liberty to do
anything--I repeat, _anything_--without your full knowledge and
consent."

He had spoken with such emphasis that he closed his eyes with an
expression of great lassitude.

"I don't like it," protested Roger, helpless in the face of his
father's iron determination; "it's too much responsibility."

"Not too much," retorted his father calmly.

"And besides, you know yourself that Therese won't like it, either.
She--she may resent it very deeply."

There was a pause, then the heavy eyebrows went up with a slightly
ironical movement.

"Don't trouble your head about Therese; leave her to me."

There was nothing to be done; any further objection might cause the old
man serious annoyance. Roger's only hope lay in waiting till his
father was well, when, perhaps, he might renew the argument.
Accordingly he gave in with a good grace.

"Oh, very well, there's no more to be said about it. By the way, have
you told Therese?"

"Not yet. I wanted to speak to you first. But I shall broach the
subject to her ... when I feel equal to it."

The dry humour in this last phrase caused Roger to wonder if, after
all, his father was quite as blind as he thought him. Did he suspect
the baccarat story? Was this a diabolical plan for getting even?
There was no way of knowing; the old chap would keep his counsel till
the last gasp. Yet, as Roger gazed on the mask-like face, he thought
that his father's decision constituted a delicate and appropriate
revenge for many a secret indignity.

He himself had no wish to score off Therese; his sole desire was to
leave her strictly alone. It was true that the very perfume she used
had become offensive to him--he fancied he could smell it now about the
covers of the bed, which showed