And another vision came haunting Miltoun, of a soft-eyed woman with a low voice, bending amongst her flowers.

Nothing would be complete without her; no work bear fruit; no scheme could have full meaning.
Lord Valleys greeted his son at dinner with good fellowship and a faint surprise.
"Day off, my dear fellow?
Or have you come up to hear Brabrook pitch into us?
He's rather late this time--we've got rid of that balloon business no trouble after all." And he eyed Miltoun with that clear grey stare of his, so cool, level, and curious.

Now, what sort of bird is this?
it seemed saying.

Certainly not the partridge I should have expected from its breeding! Miltoun's answer: "I came up to tell you some thing, sir," riveted his father's stare for a second longer than was quite urbane.
It would not be true to say that Lord Valleys was afraid of his son.
Fear was not one of his emotions, but he certainly regarded him with a respectful curiosity that bordered on uneasiness.

The oligarchic temper of Miltoun's mind and political convictions almost shocked one who knew both by temperament and experience how to wait in front.