John went back to town, telling himself that all had gone as well as he had expected. He had done his duty. He had told Stephen his news, and they had parted friends. Yet all the time he was conscious of an undercurrent of disconcerting thoughts.
Louise met him at the station, and he fancied that her expression, too, although she welcomed him gaily enough, was a little anxious.
"Well?" she asked, as she took his arm and led him to where her motor-car was waiting. "What did that terrible brother of yours say?"
John made a little grimace.
"It might have been worse," he declared. "Stephen wasn't pleased, of course. He hates women like poison, and he always will. That is because he doesn't know very much about them, and because he will insist upon dwelling upon certain unhappy incidents of our family history."
"I shall never forget the morning he came to call on me," Louise sighed. "He threatened all sorts of terrible things if I did not give you up."
"Why didn't you tell me about it?" John asked.
"I thought it might worry you," she replied, "and it couldn't do any good. He believed he was doing his duty. John, you are sure about yourself, aren't you?"
"Come and have tea with me in my rooms, and I'll tell you," he laughed.
"Just what I'd planned to do," she assented, with a sigh of content. "It's too late to go home and get back to the theater comfortably."