Flixton hesitated. Secretly he held Vaughan in respect; and he would have postponed his visit to Queen’s Square had he foreseen that that gentleman would detect him. But to retreat now was another matter. The duel was still in vogue; barely two years before the Prime Minister had gone out with a brother peer in Battersea Fields; barely twenty years before one Cabinet Minister had shot another on Wimbledon Common. He could not, therefore, afford to show the white feather, and though he hesitated, it was not for long. “You mean to see to that, do you?” he retorted. “I do.” “Then come and see,” he returned flippantly. “I’m going to have a chat with the young lady now. That’s not murder, I suppose?” And he turned on his heel and strolled across the turf towards the group of which Mary was the centre. Vaughan followed with black looks; and when Mary Smith, informed of their approach by one of the children, turned a startled face towards them, he was at Flixton’s shoulder, and pressing before him. But the Honourable Bob had the largest share of presence of mind, and he was the first to speak. “Miss Smith,” he said, raising his hat with _aplomb_, “I—you remember me, I am sure?” Vaughan pushed before him; and before the girl could speak—for jealousy is a fine spoiler of manners, “This gentleman,” he said, “wishes to see——” “To see——” said Flixton, with a lower bow. “Miss Sibson!” Vaughan exclaimed. The children stared; gazing up into the men’s faces with the undisguised curiosity of childhood. Fortunately the Mary Smith who had to confront these two was no longer the Mary Smith whom Vaughan’s appearance had stricken with panic three days before. For one thing, she knew Miss Sibson better, and feared her less. For another, her fairy godmother—the gleam of whose gifts never failed to leave a hope of change, a prospect of something other than the plodding, endless round—had shown a fresh sign. And last, not least, a more potent fairy, a fairy whose wand had power to turn Miss Sibson’s house into a Palace Beautiful, and Queen’s Square, with its cawing rooks and ordered elms, into an enchanted forest, had visited her. True, Vaughan had left her abruptly—to cool her burning cheeks and still her heart as she best might! But he had said what she would never forget, and though he had left her doubting, he had left her loving. And so the Mary who found herself addressed by two gallants was much less abashed than she who on Friday had had to do with one. Still she was astonished by their address; and she showed this, modestly and quietly. “If you wish to see Miss Sibson,” she said—instinctively she looked at Vaughan’s companion—“I will send for her.” And she was in the act of turning, with comparative ease, to despatch one of the children on the errand, when the Honourable Bob interposed.