But, oh, sir--" He stopped, hopeless.
"And what else happened ?" "Nothing to speak of." "After you come home you don't usually change your clothes merely for the pleasure of sitting with me here." "Nothing escapes you, does it ?" muttered Anthony.
"In your set, Anthony, that's what they'd call an improper question." "I could ask you any number of questions, sir, for that matter." "Well ?" "That room over there, for instance, which you always keep locked.

Am I never to have a look at it ?" He indicated a door which opened from the library.
"I hope not." "You say that with a good deal of feeling.

But there's one thing more that I have a right to hear about.

My mother! Why do you never tell me of her ?" The big man stirred and the chair groaned beneath him.
"Because it tortures me to speak of her, Anthony," said the husky voice.
"Tortures me, lad!" "I let the locked room go," said Anthony firmly, "but my mother--she is different.

Why, sir, I don't even know how she looked! Dad, it's my right!" "Is it?
By God, you have a right to know exactly what I choose to tell you--no more!" He rose, strode across the room with ponderous steps, drew aside the curtains which covered the view of the garden below, and stared for a time into the night.