outside his own front door, turned from his secretary, to whom he
had been giving these directions, to see his only daughter hurrying
through the inner hall with the evident intention of catching her
father before he rode off.

She ran down the steps, but instead of speaking at once she began to
stroke and pat his horse's neck, as though doubtful how to put what
she had to say.

'Well, Beryl, what's the matter?' said her father impatiently. The
girl, who was slender and delicate in build, raised her face to his.

'Are you--are you really going to Mannering, father?'

'I am--worse luck!'

'You'll handle him gently, won't you?' There was anxiety in the
girl's voice. 'But of course you will--I know you will.'

Chicksands shrugged his shoulders.

'I shall do my best. But you know as well as I do that he's a queer
customer when it comes to anything connected with the war.'

The girl looked behind her to make sure that the old butler of the
house had retired discreetly out of earshot.

'But he can't quarrel with _you_, father!'

'I hope not--for your sake.'