The young man nodded, and Peter Phipps started on his way to the door.  He had to pass the table at which Wingate was presiding, and it chanced that Josephine, looking up, met his eyes.  There was a moment’s hesitation in her mind.  Women are always merciful when happy.  Josephine was very happy, and Peter Phipps showed signs in his bearing and in the lines upon his face that he was not the man of six months ago.  She smiled very slightly and bowed, a greeting which Phipps returned with a smile which was almost of gratitude.  The Cabinet Minister, who had met Phipps and remembered little of his history, followed Josephine’s lead; also the American, who had known him in New York.  Phipps was holding his head a little higher as he went out.

In ten minutes he returned.  He carried a small packet in his hand, which he laid down before his nephew.

“Try one,” he invited.

Stanley Rees withdrew one of the long cigars from its paper covering.

“Did you go all the way back to the hotel to fetch these?” he asked incredulously.

Phipps shook his head.

“I went to fetch my revolver,” he said.  “I meant to shoot Wingate.  But did you see her, Stanley?  She nodded to me—­actually smiled!”

“What of it?” the young man asked.

“You’re a fool,” his uncle replied.  “Pass the brandy.”