"I shall be delighted, Richard, if you will." He looked at his son with something really ecstatic in his expression. At last then his better nature was awakening. "I really believe—" he exclaimed and Dick cut him short.
"Yes, it may be that, sir. On the other hand it may not. What is quite clear is that I must catch my train. So if I might order the car?"
"Of course, of course."
He came out with his son into the porch of the house.
"We have done a fine thing to-day, Richard," he said with enthusiasm and a nod towards the cottage beyond the meadow.
"We have indeed, sir," returned Dick cheerily. "Did you ever see such a pair of ankles?"
"She lost the tragic look this afternoon, Richard. We must be her champions."
"We will put in the summer that way, father," said Dick, and waving his hand was driven off to the station.
Mr. Hazlewood walked back to the library. But "walked" is a poor word. He seemed to float on air. A great opportunity had come to him. He had enlisted the services of his son. He saw Dick and himself as Toreadors waving red flags in the face of a bull labelled Conventionality. He went back to the pamphlet on which he was engaged with renewed ardour and laboured diligently far into the night.