'Ah, but you come into them, said Randall. He was rotating the brandy in his glass and looking up under his eyebrows with the cautious taut look of one who thinks that a quiet adversary may suddenly spring upon him.

Hugh replenished his own glass. He said, 'You want a loan? Randall was now completely still and the silence in the room told that the rain had stopped. He said, 'No, I don't want a loan, Father. I want a great deal of money, not on loan. Nothing else will do.

Hugh now looked at him steadily. He had rarely felt more strongly his connexion with his son, his identification, almost, with his son. And with that he felt for Randall at that moment something akin to admiration. Yet he felt too, with all his more customary responses, profoundly shocked. The conflict of feelings brought about a strange moment of coolness. He said, 'I'm sorry. I haven't got a great deal of money, Randall and if I had I doubt if I should let you have it. You must have some sense of moderation.

'It's not a moment for moderation, said Randall. He rose and put his glass on the mantelpiece.

'It can hardly be a moment for anything else, since I haven't got the money that you say you need.

'No. But you have — assets.

'Assets?

With a brief movement as of one perfunctorily acknowledging an altar, Randall turned for a moment towards the Tintoretto.

'Good God! said Hugh.

The silence continued, and Randall, suddenly relaxing as after great exertion, went to sit on the Ann of the sofa and rob his hand over his nose and back through his hair.

Hugh was made entirely speechless not only by the enormity of the proposal but by its unexpectedness. He saw now that this was the climax of the evening, this was the thing towards which Randall's carefully ordered conversation had been leading. He saw too that he was confronted by something so wide in its implications that he couldn't hope to take it in immediately. The twisted admiration of Randall which he had felt a moment since turned into a sort of gaping alarm as at one who has produced something monstrous and very large. But his main feeling was one of furious rejection, and he expressed it at once. 'No. Never, Randall, never. There's no good reason why I should do anything for you at all, least of all that! Don't delude yourself'

'I don't see the objections, said Randall, now speaking in a tired casual sort of way, not looking at Hugh, and still ruffling his hair. He had shot his bolt and was now sitting back helplessly to take the consequences.

'If you don't see them you must be morally blind, said Hugh. Then he asked himself: what are the objections, exactly?

'I don't see quite how morality comes in, said Randall. 'But I'm rather drunk, I think, and as morality seems to poke itself into most things I expect it's got in here too. I know you like the picture. But it isn't as if it would be a family heirloom. You know quite well I'd sell, before you were cold.

The ruthlessness of this chilled Hugh and dismayed him. He retorted, 'What makes you so certain it would be yours to sell?

Randall gave him a patient almost sleepy look. 'You mean you I might leave it to Sarah? Can you see Sarah and Jimmie hanging it on the wall of their tin shack? Sarah would sell it, and sell it foolishly, pour nourrir les cheres tetes blondes.

'And why should I esteem your little romance more highly than les cheres tetes blondes?

Randall withdrew his gaze and said nothing. The answer hung in the air as thick as cigar smoke. Hugh said 'Well —’ to close the gap into which if Randall had chosen to put a reply, Hugh would have felt ready to kill him.

Randall got up and began to pull on his coat. He said, 'Never mind. I'm sorry. I've got a bit drunk. Think it over. Never mind. Don't bother to ring for a taxi. I'll pick one up. It's stopped raining. Thank you for dinner and all that. I'll let myself out. Good night. He drifted out of the room.

Hugh sat down and covered his race. Without yet understanding entirely why, he felt appalled, degraded, defeated. The freshened warm night air blew into the room and the night had cleared to reveal a star. Like a poised angel, the golden Tintoretto beamed down upon the scene.

Chapter Nineteen

WHEN Hugh telephoned Mildred Finch and asked her in agitated tones to come round and see him at once she hardly knew what to expect. It was only ten o'clock in the morning, so she felt it must be something urgent. She could not help being pleased to be summoned, and she smoothed down her fluffy hair and put on her smartest hat as for some delicious outing.

It was a dark morning. The hot weather had broken with the thunderstorm of last night, and a light warm drizzle fell from an overcast sky. The stairs at Brompton Square were positively twilit, and when she reached Hugh's drawing-room she found it quite like a cavern, one lamp glowing and the light turned on above the picture. Hugh rushed forward at once and seized her hand.

'My dear Mildred, he said, 'how frightfully good of you to come! I felt very foolish after I'd telephoned you, but I did feel I needed to see you.

'My dear Hugh, said Mildred. 'I need to see you all the time. I'd like to have you on a slow boat to China!

'Dear: said Hugh vaguely. 'Now do sit down. Would you like a drink or something? Well, I suppose it's too early —’

'I'll have some whisky' said Mildred firmly. 'Whisky and soda. One never knew what lay ahead.

Hugh got the whisky, absently, his face puckered up. He looked very tired and haggard. He put the siphon, decanter and glass beside her and stood back, looking down at her with his round brown eyes full of apologetic solicitude. He looked like a big podgy elderly faun. He said, 'I know this is a monstrous imposition on you, Mildred. But one must use one's friends, mustn't one? When one's old and ridiculous anyway one may as well do as one pleases in this respect.

'But I'm dying precisely to be used! said Mildred. 'I refuse to say we're old. And I could never see you as ridiculous. How adorably ridiculous he is, though, she thought. 'What's it about? I'm all agog.

'Ah, said Hugh, shaking his head, in a tone which implied that their cheerful opening was sadly out of key with what must follow. He turned away from her and went to his customary place in front of the picture. Then he took to pacing. He said, 'I'

‘I’ve had a rotten night. I'm sorry', said Mildred when he failed to follow this up. 'The thunder was something dreadful.

'Not the thunder, said Hugh. 'I'm sorry. Perhaps I shouldn't have asked you to come. I feel feeble and stupid and mad.

He said this with such vehemence that Mildred felt an immediate alarm and concern, together with the thrill of being appealed to at such a level. She felt she must have her wits about her. She put her glass down. 'What is it, Hugh?

Hugh paced a while in silence, head hanging. He said, 'I must sound off to somebody. It isn't that I want your advice. Or do I? No I don't think so. I just must sound off.

'Sound away, said Mildred. She was tense with caution.

'It's about Randall.

'Ah —’ said Mildred. She relaxed a little and suddenly with breaths of fresh air all sorts of green prospects hazily opened. Perhaps, after all, Randall was off.

'Randall has put to me — the — most — extraordinary — proposition. What? said Mildred. She felt alert and brisk now.

'Well, wait a minute, said Hugh. He looked out of the window at the ragged drizzle and then started back. 'Perhaps I'd better give you a bit of background.

'Perhaps you had.

'I don't know whether you know that Randall has been having an affair with a gal called Lindsay Rimmer, who is Emma Sands' companion. Perhaps it's common knowledge?

'It's not common knowledge, said Mildred, 'but I know. Go on.