"Before you go," said Hughie in even tones, "I will tell you one thing--and that should be sufficient. It is this. There is not the slightest prospect of this--this engagement coming off. My reasons for saying so I am prepared to give to Mr. Haliburton, and if he thinks proper he can communicate them to you afterwards. But I don't think he will. Now will you leave us, please?" Joan was genuinely astonished. But she controlled herself. She was determined to see the matter out now. All the woman in her--and she was all woman--answered to the challenge contained in Hughie's dictatorial attitude. Besides, she was horribly curious. She heaved a sad little sigh, and made certain shameless play with her eyes which she knew stirred poor Hughie to the point of desperation, and surveyed the result through drooping lashes with some satisfaction. Hughie's mouth was fast shut, and he was breathing through his nose; and Joan could see a little pulse beating in his right temple. (Both of them, for the moment, had forgotten the ardent suitor by the window.) She would win through in a moment now. But alas! she had forgotten a masculine weapon against which all the Votes for Women in the world will avail nothing, when it comes to a pinch. Hughie suddenly relaxed his attitude, and strode across to the door, which he held open for her. "At _once_, please!" he said in a voice which Joan had never heard before, though many men had. Without quite knowing why, Miss Gaymer rose meekly from her chair and walked out of the room. The door closed behind her. * * * * * When Joan found herself on the lawn again she gasped a little. "Ooh!" she said breathlessly. "I--I feel just as if I'd been hit in the face by a big wave! This game is not turning out quite as you expected, Joey, my child: the man Hughie is one up! Still, I'll take it out of him another time. But--heavens!"--She was staring, like Red Riding-Hood on a historic occasion, at a recumbent figure in her canvas chair beneath the copper beech--"Who on _earth_ is that in my chair? It's--it's--oh! Joey Gaymer, you've got hysterics! It's--it's--Uncle Jimmy! _Uncle Jimmy!... My Uncle--Jimmy!_" Next moment she was reposing comfortably, a distracted bundle of tears and laughter, in the arms of Jimmy Marrable. "A bit sudden--eh, young lady?" enquired that gentleman at last. "I ought to have written, I suppose. But I quite forgot you would all think I was dead. Never mind--I'm not!" He blew his nose resonantly to substantiate his statement. Joan, satisfied at last that he was real, and greatly relieved to find that she was not suffering from hysterical delusions arising from Hughie's brutal treatment of her, enquired severely of the truant where he had been for the last five years.