nging
blows that almost knocked the head off the shoulders. "Will you agree
to my proposition now?"

From Harvey's broken lips oozed a strangled--

"No!"

Fairfax struck again and then let him slide to the floor.

"You damned little coward!" he grated. "To kick a man like that!"

He rushed from the room, grabbed his hat and coat in the hall, and was
out of the house like a whirlwind.

The whir of a motor came vaguely, indistinctly to Harvey's ears. He
was lying close to the window. As if in a dream he lifted himself
feebly to his knees and looked out of the window, not knowing exactly
what he did nor why he did it.

A big green car was leaving his front gate. He was a long time in
recalling who came up in it.

His breath was coming slowly. He tried to speak, but a strange,
unnatural wheeze came from his lips. A fit of coughing followed. At
last he got upon his feet, steadying himself against the window
casing. For a long time he stood there, working it all out in his
dizzy, thumping brain.

He put his hand to his lips and then stared dully at the stains that
covered it when he took it away. Then it all came back to him with a
rush. Like a guilty, hunted thing he slunk upstairs to his room,
carefully avoiding the room in which Phoebe was being bedecked in her
Sunday frock. Her high, shrill voice came to his ears. He was weeping
bitterly, sobbing like a whipped child.

He almost fainted when he first peered into the mirror on his bureau.
His eyes were beginning to puff out like great knobs, his face and
shirt front were saturated with his own plucky blood. Plucky! The word
occurred to him as he looked. Yes, he had been plucky. He didn't know
it was in him to be so plucky. A sort of pride in himself arose to
offset the pain and mortification. Yes, he had defended his honour and
Nellie's. She should hear of it! He would tell her what he had done
and how Fairfax had struck him down with a chair. She would then deny
to him that she had said those awful things about him. She would be
proud of him!

Carefully he washed his hands and face. With trembling fingers he
applied court-plaster to his lips, acting with speed because his eyes
were closing. Some one had told him that raw beefsteak was good for
black eyes. He wondered if bacon would do as well. There was no
beefsteak in the house.

His legs faltered as he made his way to the back stairs. Bridget was
coming up. She started back with a howl.

"Come here, B