place," he said. "Let me go and see him, father."

"No, no, my boy," said Standerton. "I wrote to him before dinner, as I told you I should, telling him to come up to-night. Where is he, Wilkins?"

"In the library, sir," the butler replied.

"Very well. I will see him there."

He accordingly left the room.

A quarter of an hour later James and Alice heard Murbridge's voice in the hall.

"You dare to turn me out of your house?" he was saying, as if in a fit of uncontrollable rage. "You forbid me to speak to your son and daughter, do you?"

"Once and for all, I do," came Standerton's calm voice in reply. "Now leave the house, and never let me see your face again. Wilkins, open the door, and take care that this man is never again admitted to my house."

Murbridge must have gone down the steps, where, as Wilkins asserted later on, he stood shaking his fist at Mr. Standerton.

"Curse you, I'll make you pay for this," he cried. "You think yourself all-powerful because of your wealth, but whatever it costs me, I'll make you smart for the manner in which you've treated me to-night."

Then the door was closed abruptly, and no more was seen of him.

William Standerton's usually rubicund face was very pale when he joined his son and daughter later. It was plain that the interview he had had with Murbridge had upset him more than he cared to admit. Alice did her best to console him, and endeavoured to make him forget it, but her efforts were a failure.

"Poor old dad," she said, when she bade him good-night. "It hurts me to see you so troubled."

"You must not think about it then," was the answer. "I shall be myself again in the morning. Good-night, my girl, and may God bless you."

"God bless you, father," the girl replied earnestly.

"I do wish you'd let me help you," said Jim, when he and his father were alone together. "Why did you not let me interview that man?"

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