‘Have you any more pretty toys like that knife about you?’ ‘The girl’s a regular arsenal,’ Hilary snapped, giving up into his senior’s hand the nasty little weapon he had snatched. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. Not much. And if you mean that he may have reconciled himself with his own father, you waste your breath. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. “Are you going to the Vorsack’s for dinner tonight?” “Yes, I think I’ll stop by.
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