“It occurred to me,” said he, “that Saturday is rather a busy day, and the trains will be full with people going away for the week-end.” She drew a long sigh. “We need not be travelling together,” she said with resignation. “My, how scared you are!” “I’m not scared,” protested the injured Gordon. “I’m scared for you--yes. That is the only thought I have. By the way, I told Robert.” “That’s your brother? What did he say?” She was curious. “Well”--Gordon hesitated--“Robert is a man of affairs, with little or no imagination, and at first he thought ...” he shrugged his shoulders--“well, you know what a certain type of mind would think, my dear Heloise.” “Couldn’t we go on Friday?” “That’s impossible. I’ve got a man coming to see me on Friday.” He explained at length Mr. Tilmet’s business, and the method he would follow to discharge the debt. Throughout the meal she observed that he was a little _distrait_, and explained his long silences by his dormant uneasiness about the forthcoming trip. In this surmise she was wrong. Gordon was thinking of Diana, and wondering how it was that he had never observed those factors of colouring and feature which had been so emphatic that night. In a way he had begun to tolerate Diana, and to find a grim amusement in his own discomfiture. She had proved a wonderful manager, had reduced expenses perceptibly; though her record of excellence as a housekeeper had been somewhat spoiled by an incident which came to Gordon in a roundabout way. She had entered the kitchen just after the butcher had left. One glance at the joint had been sufficient, and, as the butcher boy was gathering up his reins to drive off, a small shoulder of mutton came hurtling through the kitchen window. The elevation was excellent, the direction slightly faulty; the shoulder of mutton caught the butcher on the side of the head and almost knocked him off his perch. Then Diana appeared in the doorway. “Cold storage,” she said laconically. “Bring home-killed meat, or never darken our doors again!” The driver went off in a condition bordering upon hysteria. Thereafter, the meat supply showed a marked improvement. At first Gordon had been serious when this matter was reported to him respectfully and inoffensively by Trenter, who drew a small commission on all tradesmen’s bills and took a charitable view of their shortcomings. But now, sitting vis-à-vis his pretty companion, the matter occurred to him in a fresh light. “Why are you smiling?” asked Heloise. “Was I?” he said apologetically. “I hadn’t the slightest idea. I was thinking of something--er--something that happened in my office.” Not in his wildest mood had he ever dreamt that he would lie about Diana.