Val saw his uncle lift his eyes to the witness box, without moving his face; heard a shuffle of papers behind him; and instinct told him that the issue was in peril. Had Uncle Soames and the old buffer behind made a mess of it? His mother was speaking with a slight drawl.

“No, my Lord, but it had gone on a long time.”

“What had gone on?”

“Our differences about money.”

“But you supplied the money. Do you suggest that he left you to better his position?”

“The brute! The old brute, and nothing but the brute!” thought Val suddenly. “He smells a rat—he’s trying to get at the pastry!” And his heart stood still. If⁠—if he did, then, of course, he would know that his mother didn’t really want his father back. His mother spoke again, a thought more fashionably.