e you been
crying? Your face is awfully smudgy."

"Sorry," I replied, "I wasn't crying but I'm on very particular business
and I hadn't time to wash." I went at it, hammer and tongs, then--"It's
about Harry. He wants to know if you'll have him home again."

Margery looked just puzzled.

"Harry! Harry who?"

"Your Harry," I replied, manfully. "The Bishop's Harry." And I poured out
the whole story of my meeting with Harry and his passionate desire to come
home. All the while, I anxiously watched Margery's face for signs of joy or
disapproval. It was pale and still as the face of a white moth, but when
she spoke her words fell on my budding hopes like cold rain. She put her
hands on my shoulders and said earnestly:

"You must tell him not to come, John. It would be such a great pity! The
Bishop is quite, quite used to being without him now, and it would upset
him dreadfully to try to forgive Harry. I don't believe he could. And he
and I are so contented. Harry would be very disturbing--you see, he's such
a restless young man, John; and he hasn't been at all kind to his father.
He's done--things--"

"But you don't know him!" I interrupted. "He's splendid!"

"I don't _want_ to know him," Margery persisted. "He's a very--"

I could let this thing go no further. Here was another woman who must be
drowned out. I raised my voice, therefore, and almost shouted--

"Well, you've got to know him! He's coming home tomorrow night. At seven.
He wants his bed got ready. So there."

Margery sat down. She got quite red.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" she demanded.

"'Cos I was breaking it to you gently, like they do accidents," I answered
calmly.

Suddenly Margery began to laugh hysterically. She pressed her palms against
her cheeks and laughed and laughed. Then she said:--

"John, you're a most extraordinary boy."

I thought so too, but I said, modestly--"Oh, well. Somebody had to do it."
Then, in the flush of my triumph I remembered Mrs. Handsomebody. "But, oh,
I say, I must be going! And--please--would it matter much if we were here
to see him come home? We'd be very quiet."

Margery looked relieved. "I believe it would help--" she said. "It will be
rather difficult. Yes, do come. Ask your governess if you may spend an hour
with Uncle and me between your tea and bedtime. And, oh, John, that muffin
looks wretchedly lonely."

Outside, I divided the spoils with Angel.

"Well--" he demanded, his mouth full of