"Astound you?" He left his neckcloth half undone, and stepped toward
me, alertly courteous. "You mean you take exception to what I have
just said?"

"Indeed not," I replied, with another bow. "I find you changed this
morning--into a good example instead of a bad one."

And then before he could reply, I leaned over the chair he had quitted.
Lying in the corner of the faded upholstery was an oval of gold. Before
he perceived my intention, I had picked it up, and almost at the same
moment his hand fell on my arm. I looked up quickly. His face was close
to mine, closer than I had ever seen it, placid still, but somehow
changed, somehow so subtly different that I wrenched myself free, and
stepped a pace away. Brutus dropped the coat he was folding, and shuffled
forward hastily.

"How careless of me to have left it there," said my father gently. "Hand
me the locket, if you please, my son, and many thanks for picking it up."

The jewelled clasp was under my thumb I pressed it, and the gold locket I
was holding flew open, but before I could look further, he had struck a
sharp blow at my wrist, and the locket fell from my hand.

"Pick it up, Brutus," he said, his eyes never leaving mine, and we
watched each other for a second in silence.

"Come," he said, "let us go down stairs. You may find it instructive to
see how I treat my enemies."