Anne’s face reflected his interest.  “Tell me more about it,” she said.  “What sort of music do you care for?”

“Oh, anything, from Christmas carols to sonatas.  I never play to please myself, and Lucas has very varied tastes.”

“He is your elder brother?” questioned Anne.

“Yes, and one of the best.”  Nap spoke with unwonted feeling.  “He is hopelessly crippled, poor chap, and suffers infernally.  I often wonder why he puts up with it.  I should have shot myself long ago, had I been in his place.”

“Perhaps he is a good man,” Anne said.

He shot her a keen glance.  “What do you mean by a good man?”

“I mean a man who does his duty without shirking.”

“Is that your ideal?” he said, “There are plenty of men that do that, and yet their lives are anything but blameless.”

“Quite possibly,” she agreed.  “But if a man does his duty, he has not lived in vain.  It can be no man’s duty to destroy himself.”

“And how would you define ’duty’?” said Nap.

She let her eyes meet his for a moment.  “I can only define it for myself,” she said.

“Will you do so for my benefit?” he asked.

A faint colour rose to her face.  She looked past him into the fire.  There was a deep sadness about her lips as she made reply.

“I have not been given much to do.  I have to content myself with ’the work that’s nearest.’”

Nap was watching her closely.  “And if I did the same,” he questioned in a drawl that was unmistakably supercilious, “should I be a good man?”

“I don’t know what your capabilities are,” she said.

“I have vast capabilities for evil,” he told her, with a cynical twist of his thin-lipped mouth.

She met his look again.  “I am sorry,” she said.

“Are you really?  But why?  Doesn’t the devil attract you?  Honestly now!” He leaned forward, staring straight at her, challenging her.  “I tell you frankly,” he said, “I am not what you would call a good man.  But—­the truth, mind!—­would you like me any better if I were?”

She smiled a little.  There was undoubted fascination in the upturned face with its fiery eyes and savage jaw.  Perhaps the lips were cruel, but they were not coarse.  They were keenly sensitive.

She did not answer him immediately, and during the pause his eyes never flinched from hers.  They were alive, glowing with insistence.

“Yes,” she said at length.  “Quite honestly, I do prefer good men.”

“That wasn’t exactly what I asked,” said Nap, thrusting out his chin.

“I think you are capable of drawing your own conclusions,” she answered gently.

His look fell away from her.  He began to munch scone with a contemplative air.