of this, my boy," he
said, "or they won't let you go back to school; don't you know it's
catching?" To have infection in one's house, and to be considered
dangerous by one's friends, is always irritating. Sir Tom spoke with a
laugh, but it was a laugh of offence. "I ought to have thought of it
sooner," he said; "you can't go straight to school, you know, from a
house with fever in it. You must pack up and get off at once."

"I am not afraid," cried Jock. "Do you think I am such a cad as to leave
Lucy when she's in trouble? or--or--the little one either?" Jock added,
in a husky voice.

"We are all cads in that respect nowadays," said Sir Tom. "It is the
right thing. It is high principle. Men will elbow off and keep me at a
distance, and not a soul will come near Lucy. Well, I suppose, it's all
right. But there is some reason in it, so far as you are concerned.
Come, you must be off to-night. Get hold of MTutor, he's still in town,
and ask him what you must do."

After dinner Sir Tom strolled forth. He did not mean to go out, but the
house was intolerable, and he was very uneasy on the subject of Bice. It
felt, indeed, something like a treason to Lucy, shut up in the child's
sick-room, to go to the house which somehow or other was felt to be in
opposition, and dimly suspected as the occasion of her changed looks and
ways. He did not even say to himself that he meant to go there. And it
was not any charm in the Contessa that drew him. It was that uneasy
sense of a possibility which involved responsibility, and which,
probably, he would never either make sure of or get rid of. The little
house in Mayfair was lighted from garret to basement. If the lights were
dim inside they looked bright without. It had the air of a house
overflowing with life, every room with its sign of occupation. When he
got in, the first sight he saw was Montjoie striding across the doorway
of the small dining-room. Montjoie was very much at home, puffing his
cigarette at the new comer. "Hallo, St. John!" he cried, then added with
a tone of disappointment, "Oh! it's you."

"It is I, I'm sorry to say, as you don't seem to like it," said Sir Tom.

The young fellow looked a little abashed. "I expected another fellow.
That's not to say I ain't glad to see you. Come in and have a glass of
wine."

"Thank you," said Sir Tom. "I suppose as you are smoking the ladies are
upstairs."

"Oh, they don't mind," said Montjoie; "at least the Contessa, don't yo