Here was an impeachment of his own son, but this son was out to bring his own father to the ground.

There were two ways to look at it.

There was the son's point of view, and there was his own.

If he loved his son he ought to know the thing that threatened him; if he hated his son he ought to know.

So, after a moment's study of the face with the fiery eyes and a complexion like roses touched with frost, he said slowly: "Well, have I the honour of addressing Carnac Grier's wife ?" Barouche had had many rewards in his life, but the sweetest reward of all was now his own.