"I am coming to the subject of the children. Of course, now that things are so much changed—"
"I would rather not go into that," said Mr. Delaney.
"Dear me, David, how touchy you are! Why will you not accept a patent fact? I have no wish to hurt your feelings, but I really must speak out plain common sense. I always was noted for my common sense, was I not? I don't believe, in the length and breadth of England, you will find better behaved children than my five. I have brought them up on a plan of my own, and now that I come here at great trouble, and I may also add expense, to try and help you in your—oh, of course, I must not say it—to try and help you when you want help, you fight shy of my slightest word. Well, the fact is this: I want you to take my advice, and to shut up Delaney Manor, or, better still, to let it well for the next two or three years, and go abroad yourself, letting me have the children!"
"My dear Jane!"
"Oh, I am your dear Jane now—now that you think I can help you. Well, David, I mean it, and what is more, the matter must be arranged. I must take the children back with me the day after to-morrow. Now I will go to my bedroom, as I am dead tired. Perhaps you will ring the bell and ask a servant to take me there."
Mr. Delaney moved slowly across the room. He rang the electric bell, and a moment later the footman appeared in answer to his summons. He gave certain directions, and Mrs. Dolman left the room.
The moment he found himself alone, the father of the children sank down on the nearest chair, put his hands on the table, pressed his face down on them, and uttered a bitter groan.