is wrong.
It is only I, Miss Montfort,--Gerald Merryweather."

Only a tall youth in white flannels; yet, at that moment, no one, save
Uncle John himself, could have been more welcome, Margaret thought. "Oh,
Mr. Merryweather," she said, "I am so glad to see you! No, nothing is
wrong, I hope; that is--won't you come up on the verandah? My
cousin--Cousin Sophronia, let me present Mr. Merryweather."

Mr. Merryweather advanced, bowing politely to the darkness; when, to his
amazement, the person to whom he was to pay his respects sprang forward,
and clutched him violently.

"You--you--you abominable young man!" cried Miss Sophronia, shrilly.
"You made that noise; you know you made it, to annoy me! Don't tell me
you did not! Get away from here this instant, you--you--impostor!"

Margaret was struck dumb for an instant, and before she could speak,
Gerald Merryweather was replying, quietly, as if he had been throttled
every day of his life:

"If choking is your object, madam, you can do it better by pulling the
other way, I would suggest. By pulling in this direction, you see, you
only injure the textile fabric, and leave the _corpus delicti_
comparatively unharmed."

He stood perfectly still; Miss Sophronia still clutched and shook him,
muttering inarticulately; but now Margaret seized and dragged her off by
main force. "Cousin Sophronia!" she cried. "How can you--what can you be
thinking of? This is Mr. Merryweather, I tell you, the son of Uncle
John's old schoolmate. Uncle John asked him to call. I am sure you are
not well, or have made some singular mistake."

"I don't believe a word of it!" said Miss Sophronia. "Not one single
word! What was he making that noise for, I should like to know?"

Mr. Merryweather answered with a calm which he was far from feeling. His
pet necktie was probably ruined, his collar crumpled, very likely his
coat torn. He had taken pains with his toilet, and now he had been set
upon and harried, by some one he had never seen, but whom he felt sure
to be the Gorgon who had glared at him out the window several days
before. This was a horrid old lady; he saw no reason why he should be
attacked in the night by horrid old ladies, when he was behaving
beautifully.

"I am sorry!" he said, rather stiffly. "I was not conscious of speaking
loud. Miss Montfort asked who it was, and I told her. If I have offended
_her_, I am ready to apologise--and withdraw."

This sounded theatrical, it occurred to