Good-night!" And, getting out deliberately, he
walked off.
Old Heythorp, waiting for the driver to help him up, thought 'Fatter,
but no more guts than his father!'
In his sanctum he sank at once into his chair. It was wonderfully still
there every day at this hour; just the click of the coals, just the
faintest ruffle from the wind in the trees of the park. And it was
cosily warm, only the fire lightening the darkness. A drowsy beatitude
pervaded the old man. A good day's work! A triumph--that young pup had
said. Yes! Something of a triumph! He had held on, and won. And dinner
to look forward to, yet. A nap--a nap! And soon, rhythmic, soft,
sonorous, his breathing rose, with now and then that pathetic twitching
of the old who dream.
III
1
When Bob Pillin emerged from the little front garden of 23, Millicent
Villas ten days later, his sentiments were ravelled, and he could not
get hold of an end to pull straight the stuff of his mind.
He had found Mrs. Larne and Phyllis in the sitting-room, and Phyllis
had been crying; he was sure she had been crying; and that memory still
infected the sentiments evoked by later happenings. Old Heythorp had
said: "You'll burn your fingers.
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