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night it was never formulated. “If I had had a father of whom I didn’t need to be actively ashamed, life would have been a cleaner and a sweeter thing. If he had never done anything else to hurt me since I was born, I’d owe him that grudge.”

His mind leapt back to Trent Stoke again. He had often heard of that great house; it was well known. Then once more he thought how annoyed Pamela would be if she knew he was of her family. . . . Blood does count! He chuckled. He had never been more excited, partly because his anger about Millicent Travers had been there to increase the blaze that Lister had unconsciously kindled. Little darts of flame ran up his spine and down to the tips of his fingers; between the darts he felt cold enough to shiver. It was funny to find out who one’s mother was! He wished this play would end; he wanted to get out and walk. And to-morrow he must go back to work; he had had his fling . . . and it was worth it. . . . And work was good too. . . . He would leave old Archie to make all the explanations . . . he would leave Archie and all these pleasant people, and the little girl with whom he always quarrelled . . . his cousin Pamela! . . . and go back to where he belonged.

Thank Heaven there were only three acts! They were going out now. He rose with the rest, and having helped on his neighbour’s coat, found himself moving shoulder to shoulder with Pamela in the crowd that flowed steadily towards the street. Her face was carefully turned from him; he was seized with a mad, schoolboy impulse, and he spoke in a low voice.

“Lady Trent?”

She turned her head with a look of surprise.

“I have been hearing some news.”

“What has that to do with me?” she murmured, au bout des lèvres.