in front of him.

"I should keep my head, sir," he answered in his gentle voice. "Will you
take tea?"

"Thank you."

Dick looked out of the window. It was a morning of clear skies and
sunlight, a very proper morning for this the first of all the remarkable
days which one after the other were going especially to belong to him. He
was of the gods now. The world was his property, or rather he held it in
trust for Stella. It was behaving well; Dick Hazlewood was contented. He
ate a large breakfast and strolling into the library lit his pipe. There
was his father bending over his papers at his writing-table before the
window, busy as a bee no doubt at some new enthusiasm which was destined
to infuriate his neighbours. Let him go on! Dick smiled benignly at the
old man's back. Then he frowned. It was curious that his father had not
wished him a good-morning, curious and unusual.

"I hope, sir, that you slept well," he said.

"I did not, Richard," and still the back was turned to him. "I lay awake
considering with some care what you told me last night about--about
Stella Ballantyne."

Of late she had been simply Stella to Harold Hazlewood. The addition of
Ballantyne was significant. It replaced friendliness with formality.

"Yes, we agreed to champion her cause, didn't we?" said Dick cheerily.
"You took one good step forward last night, I took another."

"You took a long stride, Richard, and I think you might have consulted
me first."

Dick walked over to the table at which his father sat.

"Do you know, that's just what Stella said," he remarked, and he seemed
to find the suggestion rather unintelligible. Mr. Hazlewood snatched at
any support which was offered to him.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, and for the first time that morning he looked his son
in the face. "There now, Richard, you see!"

"Yes," Richard returned imperturbably. "But I was able to remove all
her fears. I was able to tell her that you would welcome our marriage
with all your heart, for you would look upon it as a triumph for your
principles and a sure sign that my better nature was at last
thoroughly awake."

Dick walked away from the table. The old man's face lengthened. If he was
a philosopher at all, he was a philosopher in a piteous position, for he
was having his theories tested upon himself, he was to be the experiment
by which they should be proved or disproved.

"No doubt," he said in a lamentable voice. "Quite so, Richard. Yes," and
he ca