a company of which he (Hemmings) happened to be
secretary. Mr. Scorrier had hinted at excuses; for his part, with the
best intentions in the world, he had great difficulty in seeing them. He
would go further--he did not see them! The explosion...! Pippin shrank
so visibly that Hemmings seemed troubled by a suspicion that he had gone
too far.

"We know," he said, "that it was trying for you...."

"Trying!" "burst out Pippin.

"No one can say," Hemmings resumed soothingly, "that we have not dealt
liberally." Pippin made a motion of the head. "We think we have a good
superintendent; I go further, an excellent superintendent. What I say
is: Let's be pleasant! I am not making an unreasonable request!" He
ended on a fitting note of jocularity; and, as if by consent, all three
withdrew, each to his own room, without another word.

In the course of the next day Pippin said to Scorrier: "It seems I have
been very wicked. I must try to do better"; and with a touch of bitter
humour, "They are kind enough to think me a good superintendent, you
see! After that I must try hard."

Scorrier broke in: "No man could have done so much for them;" and,
carried away by an impulse to put things absolutely straight, went on
"But, after all, a letter now and then--what does it amount to?"

Pippin besieged him with a subtle glance. "You too?" he said--"I must
indeed have been a wicked man!" and turned away.

Scorrier felt as if he had been guilty of brutality; sorry for Pippin,
angry with himself; angry with Pippin, sorry for himself. He earnestly
desired to see the back of Hemmings. The secretary gratified the wish
a few days later, departing by steamer with ponderous expressions of
regard and the assurance of his goodwill.

Pippin gave vent to no outburst of relief, maintaining a courteous
silence, making only one allusion to his late guest, in answer to a
remark of Scorrier:

"Ah! don't tempt me! mustn't speak behind his back."

VI

A month passed, and Scorrier still--remained Pippin's guest. As each
mail-day approached he experienced a queer suppressed excitement. On one
of these occasions Pippin had withdrawn to his room; and when Scorrier
went to fetch him to dinner he found him with his head leaning on his
hands, amid a perfect fitter of torn paper. He looked up at Scorrier.

"I can't do it," he said, "I feel such a hypocrite; I can't put myself
into leading-strings again. Why should I ask these people, when I've
set