ps.

"Ah!" he said, "you do not know the old gentleman. That is not our way
of doing things. We are not expansive."

His face was grave again, and she noticed it with a sudden throb of
misgiving. She did not want to begin taking life seriously so soon. It
was like going back to school in the middle of the holidays.

"But it will be all right in a day or two, will it not? It is not
serious," she said.

"I am afraid it is serious, Millicent."

He took her hand with a gravity which made matters worse.

"What a pity!" she exclaimed; and somehow both the words and the speaker
rang shallow. She did not seem to grasp the situation, which was perhaps
beyond her reach. But she did the next best thing. She looked puzzled,
pretty, and helpless.

"What is to be done, Jack?" she said, laying her two hands on his breast
and looking up pleadingly.

There was something in the man's clear-cut face--something beyond
aristocratic repose--as he looked down into her eyes--something which
Sir John Meredith might perhaps have liked to see there. To all men
comes, soon or late, the moment wherein their lives are suddenly thrust
into their own hands to shape or spoil, to make or mar. It seemed that
where a clever man had failed, this light-hearted girl was about
to succeed. Two small clinging hands on Jack Meredith's breast had
apparently wrought more than all Sir John's care and foresight. At last
the light of energy gleamed in Jack Meredith's lazy eyes. At last he
faced the "initiative," and seemed in no wise abashed.

"There are two things," he answered; "a small choice."

"Yes."

"The first and the simplest," he went on in the tone of voice which she
had never quite fathomed--half cynical, half amused--"is to pretend that
last night--never was."

He waited for her verdict.

"We will not do that," she replied softly; "we will take the other
alternative, whatever it is."

She glanced up half shyly beneath her lashes, and he felt that no
difficulty could affright him.

"The other is generally supposed to be very difficult," he said. "It
means--waiting."

"Oh," she answered cheerfully, "there is no hurry. I do not want to be
married yet."

"Waiting perhaps for years," he added--and he saw her face drop.

"Why?"

"Because I am dependent on my father for everything. We could not marry
without his consent."

A peculiar, hard look crept into her eyes, and in some subtle way it
made her look older. After a little pause sh