"But not for any one else. He was drummed out. There wasn't a soul in
the regiment to speak to him. We heard that he took another name and
went abroad. Anyhow, he disappeared. It was all he could do. He was
lucky to get off with that; wasn't he, Peter? wasn't he, father?"

"What he got off with," said Guion, "was a quality of tragic interest
which never pertains to the people who stick to the Street called
Straight."

"Oh, certainly," Mrs. Fane assented, dryly. "He did acquire that. But
I'm surprised to hear you commend it; aren't you, father? aren't you,
Peter?"

"I'm not commending it," Guion asserted; "I only feel its force. I've a
great deal of sympathy with any poor beggar in his--downfall."

"Since when?"

The look with which Rodney Temple accompanied the question once more
affected Davenant oddly. It probably made the same impression on Guion,
since he replied with a calmness that seemed studied: "Since--lately.
Why do you ask?"

"Oh, for no reason. It only strikes me as curious that your sympathy
should take that turn."

"Precisely," Miss Guion chimed in. "It's not a bit like you, papa. You
used to be harder on dishonorable things than any one."