id Mr. James, fuming.

"But she's engaged to Mr. Reginald Butterwick," said Pollyooly.

"The deuce she is!" cried Mr. James; and a faint gleam of hope
brightened his face. "And who is Mr. Reginald Butterwick?"

"He's with Messrs. Mercer & Topping; but he can always get an afternoon
off to knock the stuffing out of any one, because he boxes at the
Chiswick Polytechnic. And he's going to get his afternoon off to-day
to knock the stuffing out of Mr. Vance."

"The deuce he is!" cried Mr. James. "Well, a good hiding would do
Hilary a world of good," he added in a vengeful tone. "Teach him not
to go spooning florists' assistants."

"Oh, no. He might get hurt ever so badly," said Pollyooly firmly.

Mr. James' face grew stubborn; then it softened, and he said:

"Well, there's always the danger of his getting a finger broken; and
that wouldn't do. I suppose we must stop the affray--it might get into
the papers too."

"Yes: we must stop it, if we can," said Pollyooly anxiously.

"Well, if he's lunching at the Savage he'll play Spelka after it; and I
shall catch him there. I'll keep him out all the afternoon--till his
rival has tired of waiting and gone."

"Oh, yes. That would be much the best," said Pollyooly gratefully.

Mr. James went briskly to the door. At it he stopped and said:

"There's a chance that I may miss him. There may not be a game of
Spelka; and he may come straight home. Perhaps you'd better wait in
till about five."

"Yes: I think I'd better. He'd be sure to come back and not know
anything about Mr. Butterwick, if there weren't anybody here," said
Pollyooly.

He bade her good-bye; and let himself out of the house. She returned
to her darning.

It was as well that she had not left the house, for about twenty
minutes later the front door was opened, and the passage and studio
quivered gently to Hilary Vance's weight. Pollyooly sprang up and met
him at the door of the studio with Flossie's note.

At the sight of the handwriting, a large, gratified smile covered all
the round expanse of his face. But as he read, the smile faded, giving
way to an expression of the liveliest surprise and consternation.

"What the deuce is this?" he cried loudly.

"She said he was going to knock the stuffing out of you, Mr. Vance, and
he might be here any time this afternoon," said Pollyooly.

"And what the deuce for? What's it got to do with him?" cried Hilary
Vance.

"She said he was her fiong