What Lord Talgarth would really have wished was that Frank should have written to him a submissive—­even though a disobedient—­letter, telling him that he could not forego his convictions, and preparing to assume the role of a Christian martyr.  For he could have sneered at this, and after suitable discipline forgiven its writer more or less.  Of course, he had never intended for one instant that his threats should really be carried out; but the situation—­to one of Lord Talgarth’s temperament—­demanded that the threats should be made, and that Frank should pretend to be crushed by them.  That the boy should have behaved like this brought a reality of passion into the affair—­disconcerting and infuriating—­as if an actor should find his enemy on the stage was armed with a real sword.  There was but one possibility left—­which Lord Talgarth instinctively rather than consciously grasped at—­namely, that an increased fury on his part should once more bring realities back again to a melodramatic level, and leave himself, as father, master both of the situation and of his most disconcerting son.  Frank had behaved like this in minor matters once or twice before, and Lord Talgarth had always come off victor.  After all, he commanded all the accessories.

* * * * *

When the speeches had been made—­Frank cut off with a shilling, driven to the Colonies, brought back again, and finally starved to death at his father’s gates—­Lord Talgarth found himself in a chair, with Jenny seated opposite, and the rest of the company gone to dinner.  He did not quite realize how it had all been brought about, nor by whose arrangement it was that a plate of soup and some fish were to come presently, and Jenny and he to dine together.

He pulled himself together a little, however, and began to use phrases again about his “graceless son,” and “the young villain,” and “not a penny of his.” (He was, of course, genuinely angry; that must be understood.)

Then Jenny began to talk.

“I think, you know,” she said quietly, “that you aren’t going the right way to work. (It’s very impertinent of me, isn’t it?—­but you did say just now you wanted to hear what I thought.)”

“Of course I do; of course I do.  You’re a sensible girl, my dear.  I’ve always said that.  But as for this young—­”

“Well, let me say what I think. (Yes, put the soup down here, will you.  Is that right, Lord Talgarth?).”  She waited till the man was gone again and the old man had taken up his spoon.  Then she took up her own.  “Well, I think what you’ve done is exactly the thing to make Frank more obstinate than ever.  You see, I know him very well.  Now, if you’d only laughed at him and patted his head, so to speak, from the beginning, and told him you thought it an excellent thing for a boy of his character, who wants looking after—­”

Lord Talgarth glared at her.  He was still breathing rather heavily, and was making something of a noise over his soup.