"I don't believe you know what I know, either, dad," said his son, dryly.
Bellows entered. "Your sleigh will return in half an hour, Mr.—Mr. Bosworth. Will you wait, sir?"
"No, he won't wait," said Mr. Van Pycke. "Get his coat and hat, Bellows. I'm—I'm going to take him away."
"You'll be lost in the snow, sir," said Bellows, mildly. "It's worse than the Alps, sir."
"Alps? Confound you, you've never seen the Alps!"
"No, sir," said Bellows. "But Stokes, the butler, has, sir."
"Send Stokes to me, Bellows," said Miss Downing, quietly. "I will give orders for to-night and to-morrow morning. I hope you will forgive me, Mr. Van Pycke, if I retire at once. I am very tired. It has been a busy day and—a rather wearing night."
"Please don't go just yet," he begged. "You promised to tell me about the—" He was going to say wedding, but his father interrupted.
"If you're not coming at once, Bosworth, I'll leave you here. I'll walk. I'll have pneumonia anyhow, so what's the sense of taking care of myself? I've been insulted, outraged, humiliated in this—But, I can't talk about it now, not in the presence of a lady—for I'm sure she is a lady. I can tell 'em by the sound of their voices. What, in God's name, are you doing here? That's the thing that puzzles me. 'Gad, if I did the proper thing, I'd take you away at once, storm or no storm."
"Dad, you don't understand," began Bosworth.