Mr. Wilton threw down his letter.
"Look here, Basil," he said, "you are too old to be punished in the sort of way I punish Ermengarde, or Marjorie, or Eric."
"I am only a year older than Ermengarde,"
"Don't contradict me, sir. I repeat, you are too old, and you are different. I have regarded you hitherto as a manly sort of fellow, and even after last night I cannot treat you as a child. Come to Glendower; only understand that, until you explain yourself fully, you suffer from my displeasure."
"If that is so, father"—Basil's lips quivered, his dark eyes glowed with pain—"if that is so, I would rather stay at Wilton Chase."
"Then stay. Until you are once more the frank fellow I have always regarded you, your movements do not interest me."
"I will stay at home then, father."
"Very well."
Mr. Wilton opened another letter, and began to read it. Basil lingered for a moment, as if he hoped for another softer word; then he turned on his heel and left the room.
In due time Ermengarde and her father started on their journey. Ermengarde carried away with her every conceivable bit of finery which Marjorie could stow into her trunk, and Hudson, finding herself helpless to stem the tide of events, at last rose to the occasion, and did her best to send off her young lady suitably prepared for her visit.