As he watched his daughter-in-law's fur-coated figure, the little shoes thereunder and the little hat a-top, recede from view up Piccadilly, chivalry still had its way with the sailor's sentimental soul. He had promised Julia Cavendish that he would tackle Hector--and, by jingo, he would tackle Hector.

So, navy discipline and the laws of cricket alike allotting him the role of knight-errant, he drew a fat watch from his fob-pocket, consulted it, waved the malacca at a crawling taxi-driver, ordered him peremptorily: "The Temple, Embankment entrance," and stepped aboard.

The admiral anchored his taxi on the Embankment; strode through the gates, up Middle Temple Lane, and across King's Bench Walk. David Patterson, rising superciliously from the desk in the outer office of Brunton's chambers to inquire a stranger's business in vacation-time, encountered a curt, "Tell my son that his father wants to see him," and disappeared within.

"What the devil does he want?" Hector Brunton looked up from a letter he was studying; rose to his big feet, and straddled himself before the fire as his subdued clerk ushered his father through the doorway.

"This is an unexpected honor, sir," said Hector Brunton, K.C.

The old man took off his top-hat, laid it among the papers on the desk; retained his malacca; and sat himself down pompously on an imitation mahogany chair.

"I've come to talk to you about your wife," he began tactlessly; and without more ado plunged into a recital of his interview with Julia Cavendish and his chance meeting with Aliette, concluding: "And if you take my advice, the best thing you can do is to start an action for divorce."

"As I told you before, sir," broke in the K.C., who had listened with restrained anger to his father's recital, "I regret I cannot take that advice." The hands trembled behind his back. "If I may say so, I consider that you've put me entirely in the wrong by calling on Mrs. Cavendish."

"Oh, you do, do you?" The old man, already sufficiently excited for one afternoon by his interview with the two ladies, felt his temper getting the better of him. "You do, do you? Well, I don't. Mrs. Cavendish is a very delightful woman. A woman of the world."

"Is that all you came to tell me, sir?" Hector's gray eyes smoldered.

"No, sir." The senior service beard bristled. "I came to have this matter out once and for all. I came to tell you that you're not behaving like a gentleman."

"So you said before, sir. And I repeat the answer I gave you then. I see no reason why I should behave like a gentleman to a wife who hasn't behaved like a lady."

"Two blacks don't make a white, Hector."

"Possibly." The K.C. gathered up the tails of his morning-coat, and sat down, as though to terminate the discussion.

But the old man, gloved hands glued on the handle of the malacca, stuck to his guns. "Black's black and white's white," he rumbled dogmatically. "You won't whitewash yourself by throwing mud at your wife. I didn't want to go and see the Cavendish woman. I've always stood by my own and I always shall, so long as they stand by me. A man's first duty is to his family."

"Exactly my opinion, sir."

"Then why not act on it?" The admiral fumed. "D'you think this business is doing me any good? D'you think it's nice for Adrian, or Simeon, or Simeon's wife, to hear you talked about all over London----"

"A man has his rights and I mean to assert mine. Let London talk if it likes." Aliette's husband spoke resolutely enough, yet he was conscious of a tremor in his voice. More and more now the thought of Aliette made him feel uncertain of himself. "Let London talk!" he repeated. "My wife's made a fool of me. She and young Cavendish between them have dragged my name in the dirt. May I remind you, sir, that it's your name, too----"

"All the more reason, then, to drag it out of the dirt. You won't do that by continuing to behave"--the sailor's rage got the better of him--"like a cad."

At that, Hector Brunton forgot himself. His left hand thumped furiously on the desk. "You tell me I'm behaving like a cad, sir. What about this bastard Cavendish! What about the man who seduced my wife from her allegiance? He's the gentleman, I presume. Well--let the gentleman keep his strumpet----"

"By God, Hector"--the old man's eyes blazed,--"you are a cad."

The K.C. quaked at the red fury in his father's look. Weakly he tried to take refuge in silence; but the next words--words uttered almost of their own volition--stung him out of silence.

"Who are you to talk of keeping strumpets?"

"Sir----"

"Be quiet, sir. D'you take me for a fool? D'you think I don't know--d'you think London doesn't know"--the admiral's gall mastered him completely--"about the strumpet you kept--kept without your wife's knowledge--kept in luxury for two years while other men were being killed----"

"Really, sir, I protest----"

"Protest then, and be damned to you. That's all you lawyers are fit for--protesting. Christ Almighty, you're worse than parsons. Talk of your rights, would you? Precious good care you took not to fight for other people's rights when you had a chance. Why, even Adrian----"

"I fail to see, sir----" Hector Brunton's face whitened, as the face of a man hit by a bullet whitens, at the taunt.

"You fail to see a good many things, sir." The admiral reached for his hat. "Allow me to tell you one of them--that the man who permits his wife to live with somebody else without taking any steps to get rid of her, is a common or garden pimp."

And the senior service, having said considerably more than it intended, marched out of the door.