“Precisely,” said Howard, “but after twenty-four hours they were fighting like demons to restore law and order.  It is”—­he fingered the card—­“to save that twenty-four hours that this organization is being formed.  It is secret.  Did I tell you that?  And the idea originated with the young man you spoke about as supporting Hendricks —­you met him here once, a friend of Lily’s.  His name is Cameron —­William Wallace Cameron.”

Old Anthony remained silent, but the small jagged vein on his forehead swelled with anger.  After a time: 

“I suppose Doyle is behind this?” he asked.  “It sounds like him.”

“That is the supposition.  But they have nothing on him yet; he is too shrewd for that.  And that leads to something else.  Lily cannot continue to stay there.”

“I didn’t send her there.”

“Actually, no.  In effect—­but we needn’t go into that now.  The situation is very serious.  I can imagine that nothing could fit better into his plans than to have her there.  She gives him a cachet of respectability.  Do you want that?”

“She is probably one of them now.  God knows how much of his rotten doctrine she has absorbed.”

Howard flushed, but he kept his temper.

“His theories, possibly.  His practice, no.  She certainly has no idea ... it has come to this, father.  She must have a home somewhere, and if it cannot be here, Grace and I must make one for her elsewhere.”

Probably Anthony Cardew had never respected Howard more than at that moment, or liked him less.

“Both you and Grace are free to make a home where you please.”

“We prefer it here, but you must see yourself that things cannot go on as they are.  We have waited for you to see that, all three of us, and now this new situation makes it imperative to take some action.”

“I won’t have that fellow Akers coming here.”

“He would hardly come, under the circumstances.  Besides, her friendship with him is only a part of her revolt.  If she comes home it will be with the understanding that she does not see him again.”

“Revolt?” said old Anthony, raising his eyebrows.

“That is what it actually was.  She found her liberty interfered with, and she staged her own small rebellion.  It was very human, I think.”

“It was very Cardew,” said old Anthony, and smiled faintly.  He had, to tell the truth, developed a grudging admiration for his granddaughter in the past two months.  He saw in her many of his own qualities, good and bad.  And, more than he cared to own, he had missed her and the young life she had brought into the quiet house.  Most important of all, she was the last of the Cardews.  Although his capitulation when it came was curt, he was happier than he had been for weeks.

“Bring her home,” he said, “but tell her about Akers.  If she says that is off, I’ll forget the rest.”