Oliver had not relented, for a
night haunted by visions of this unknown cousin had in no way added to
his peace of mind.

"I have been thinking about that girl you spoke about," he began,
looking across the table and over the wide bowl of sweet peas to fix
his cousin with a glance of firm determination, "and I don't really
care to meet her. Janet can go to fetch her, but--you mustn't
expect--I don't know how----"

His defense broke down and Cousin Jasper was ill-advised enough to
laugh.

"Stuff and nonsense," he said. "If you are afraid of girls it is time
you got over it. I have telephoned Eleanor already, but she couldn't
come." Oliver brightened, but relapsed, the next moment, into deeper
gloom than ever. "She said that she would be at home later in the
afternoon, so you and Janet are to go over and call on her. I have
ordered the motor for three o'clock."

It was Janet's suppressed giggle that added the last spark to Oliver's
kindling anger. He was fond of his Cousin Jasper, he was troubled
concerning him, and disturbed by the haunting feeling that something
was wrong in the big house. Yet baffled anxiety often leads to
irritation, and irritation, in Oliver's case, was being tactlessly
pushed into rage. He said little, for he was a boy of few words, nor,
so he told himself, could he really be rude to Cousin Jasper no matter
how foolishly obstinate he was.

"But I'll get out of it somehow," he reflected stormily as he gulped
down his breakfast and strode out into the garden. "I'll think of a
way."

Cudgel his brains as he might, however, he could think of no plausible
escape from the difficulty. He had found no excuse by lunch time, and
was relieved that Cousin Jasper did not appear, being deep in some
task in his study. At half past two Janet went upstairs to dress and
Hotchkiss came to Oliver in the library to say:

"The car was to be ready at three o'clock, sir. Is that correct?"

To which Oliver replied desperately:

"Tell Jennings to make it half past three. I am going for a walk."

So he had plunged out through the gates and, once away down the dusty
road, he became more and more of a rebel and finally a fugitive.

"I won't go back," he kept saying to himself. "I won't go back."

There was enough money in his pocket to take him home, and there was a
train from the junction at three. He could telephone from there, very
briefly, that he was going and that Hotchkiss was to send his things.
He was