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.