perhaps, at the conclusion of the
theatricals, a little speech--something quite impromptu and
informal, just asking them to wish you happiness, and so on. I like
the idea. There is an old-world air about it that appeals to me.
Yes."

He turned to the dressing-table, and removed his collar.

"Well, run along, my boy," he said. "You must not be late." His
lordship tottered from the room.

He did quite an unprecedented amount of thinking as he hurried into
his evening clothes; but the thought occurring most frequently was
that, whatever happened, all was well in one way, at any rate. He
had the twenty pounds. There would be something colossal in the
shape of disturbances when his uncle learned the truth. It would be
the biggest thing since the San Francisco earthquake. But what of
it? He had the money.

He slipped it into his waistcoat-pocket. He would take it down with
him, and pay Hargate directly after dinner.

He left the room. The flutter of a skirt caught his eye as he
reached the landing. A girl was coming down the corridor on the
other side. He waited at the head of the stairs to let her go down
before him. As she came on to the landing, he saw that it was Molly.

For a moment, there was an awkward pause.

"Er--I got your note," said his lordship.

She looked at him, and then burst out laughing.

"You know, you don't mind the least little bit," she said; "not a
scrap. Now, do you?"

"Well, you see--"

"Don't make excuses! Do you?"

"Well, it's like this, you see, I--"

He caught her eye. Next moment, they were laughing together.

"No, but look here, you know," said his lordship. "What I mean is,
it isn't that I don't--I mean, look here, there's no reason why we
shouldn't be the best of pals."

"Why, of course, there isn't."

"No, really, I say? That's ripping. Shake hands on it."

They clasped hands; and it was in this affecting attitude that Sir
Thomas Blunt, bustling downstairs, discovered them.

"Aha!" he cried, archly. "Well, well, well! But don't mind me, don't
mind me!"

Molly flushed uncomfortably; partly, because she disliked Sir Thomas
even when he was not arch, and hated him when he was; partly,
because she felt foolish; and, principally, because she was
bewildered. She had not looked forward to meeting Sir Thomas that
night. It was always unpleasant to meet him, but it would be more
unpleasant than usual after she had upset the scheme for which he
had worked so earnestly. She h