her knees comforting Christine; and as Roy's senses cleared, he saw with
a throb of relief that his mother was not there. But Aunt Jane was--and
Uncle Cuthbert----

He seemed to stand there panting and aching in an endless silence, full
of eyes. He did not know that his father was giving him a few seconds to
recover himself.

Then: "What do you mean by it, Roy?" he asked; and this time his voice
was really stern. It hurt more than the bruises. "Gentlemen don't hammer
their guests." This was an unexpected blow. And it wasn't fair. How
could he explain before "all those"? His cheeks were burning, his head
was aching; and tears, that must not be allowed to fall, were pricking
like needles under his lids.

It was Tara who spoke--still clutching Prince, lest he overwhelm Roy and
upset his hardly maintained dignity.

"Joe made him angry--he _did_," she thrust in with feminine
officiousness; and was checked by her mother's warning finger.

Mrs Bradley--long and thin and beaky--bore down upon her battered son,
who edged away sullenly from proffered caresses.

Sir Nevil, not daring to meet the humorous eye of Cuthbert Broome--still
contemplated the dishevelled dignity of his own small son--half puzzled,
half vexed.

"You've done it now, Roy. Say you're sorry," he prompted; his voice a
shade less stern than he intended.