ternoon papers when you come, Gilbert, I'd like to see what
they say about the play!"

"Righto!" said Gilbert.

Henry sat on in the breakfast room, after Gilbert had gone, reading the
criticisms of "The Magic Casement," and then, when he had finished, he
went up to his room and began to work on "Turbulence." He wrote steadily
for an hour, and then read over what he had done.

"This is better," he murmured to himself, pleased with what he had
written, and he prepared to go on, but before he could start again,
there was a knock on the door, and Magnolia came in.

"You're wanted on the telephone, sir!" she said.

"Who is it?"

"I don't know, sir. They didn't say!"

He went downstairs and took up the receiver. "Hilloa!" he said.

"Is that you, Paddy?" was the response.

"Cecily!"

"Yes. I've just had your letter. Are you very cross, Paddy?"

He felt perturbed, but he tried to make his voice sound as if he were
indifferent to her.

"No," he replied, "I'm not cross at all...."

"Oh, yes, you are, Paddy. You're very cross, and you're going to teach
me a lesson, aren't you?"

He could hear her light laugh as she spoke.

"I can't _make_ you believe that I'm not cross at all," he said.

"No, you can't. Paddy!" Her voice had a coaxing note as she said his
name.

"Yes."

"Come to lunch with me. Jimphy's gone off for the day somewhere...."

"I'm sorry!..."

"Do come, Paddy. I want you to come. I do, really!"

He paused for a second or two before he replied. After all why should he
not go?...

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I really can't lunch with you. I'm going to
Ireland!..."

"Going where?"

"Ireland. To-night! I'm going with Gilbert!"

"But you can't go this minute. Paddy, you _are_ cross, and you're
spiteful, too. If you aren't cross, you'll come and lunch with me. You
ought to come and say 'good-bye' to me before you go to Ireland...."

"I've got a lot to do ... packing and things!"

"You can do that afterwards!" Her voice became more insistent. "Paddy, I
want you to come. You must come!..."

He hesitated, and she said, "Do, Paddy!" very appealingly.

It would be weak, he told himself, to yield to her now ... she would
think she had only to be a little gracious and he would be at her feet
immediately; and then he thought it would be weak not to yield to her.
"It'll look as if I were afraid to meet her ... running away like this.
Or that I'm sulking ... just petulant!"

"All right," he said