not feel safe."

Mrs. Wetherby said nothing, but nodded a grim approval.

"I recognize your claims as hostess," replied Lionel amicably, "but,
really, this is carrying the thing too far. I am not the vulgar
intriguer you suppose--I merely kidnaped that charming----"

"If you refuse," interrupted Winifred with basilisk eyes, "I shall ring
for Forbes and have you turned out of the house at once. Do you
understand?"

Lionel sighed.

"I ought to have known," he said, "that a woman judges by emotion, not
reason. In the morning perhaps I shall be able to convince you of my
innocence." He gave her the key, which she snatched with unnecessary
vehemence. "Good night. Thank you for an uneventful evening."

She ignored the insolence, which he justified to himself by her
unreasonable suspicions. Leaving him in a nonchalant attitude, she swept
out like an offended princess, her satellite following in an eloquent
silence. Lionel heard the key turn dismally in the lock, and then the
sound of footsteps retreating down the passage. He laughed gently to
himself.

"Good lord, what a muddle!" he said, "and what an evening! First, the
face at the window (what a title for a melodrama!--Dash it! I've seen it
already on the posters!); second, the appearance of Mizzi; third,
discovered by Winifred. Climax after climax, and I was beginning to
think myself bored. _Bored_ ... ye gods!... all I need at the present
moment is bed: I've done enough thinking to scour my brain-pan for a
year."

He undressed rapidly and got into bed. As he pulled the clothes about
him he chuckled, remembering Winifred's face. Then he grew grave.
"Sacked to-morrow, old boy!" he muttered. "Marching orders at breakfast
and no mistake! But before I go I'll ask her straight out what little
Mizzi is doing here." And then he turned over and was soon asleep.

But the horn of plenty still had some gifts to shower upon him: the god
of mischances had not yet exhausted his store of thrills. About five
minutes, as it seemed, after his retiring--it was really an hour and a
half--Lionel was roused from a deep slumber by a knock. He sat up in
bed, blinking heavily, wondering if his senses had deceived him, whether
he was dreaming or awake. For a moment he sat listening, and then the
knock was repeated, distinct beyond the possibility of mistake.
"Confound it!" he muttered in an ill temper; "they might give me a night
off now.... To-morrow I'll hang a placard on my door--'Con