“Listen, Dempsi or Wopsy, as the case may be--you are returning to your hotel to-morrow. We are not getting married on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. Shall I tell you why? I see that you are interested. Because I don’t want to marry you.” His face darkened. “This is Uncle Isaac!” he said between his teeth. “The influence of that man is diabolical! All my life I have been thwarted by aunts and uncles. He shall answer to me--Guiseppi Dempsi!” He flung out of his chair, took two strides toward the door, when she caught his arms desperately. “Let me go,” he stormed. “If you leave this room I will telephone for the police!” The tension relaxed. “For me--the police for me!” He covered his face in his hands and his shoulders heaved convulsively. Diana felt no regrets. “And she of whom I dreamt threatens me. Let me die!” Diana let him. At the end of three minutes he was still alive. “Mr. Dempsi, dry your eyes.” Like a faithful but heart-broken hound, he obeyed. “You may stay here to-night,” she said; “your bedroom is at the top of the stairs. I hope you sleep well. If you want anything, ring the bell. Good-night.” He turned wearily toward the door. “This is not Diana.” His dejection would have touched a heart of stone. Diana was unmoved. She heard his door close, went silently up the stairs and slipped a key into the lock. He heard, too late, the grating of steel against steel. Before he could reach the door the lock snapped. “Who is that--who has locked the door? Open it at once.” “It is I,” said Diana in a low voice. “But, Diana, this is extraordinary!” “I do it for your own protection,” she whispered through the keyhole. “Uncle Isaac does not like you--and _he is armed_.” A silence. “But this is dangerous! If there is a fire----” “Use the extinguisher!” she hissed. “It is hanging in the wardrobe.” She was tired, aching in every limb, immensely lonely. Oh, for the comforting presence of Gordon! Or even Eleanor, at that moment sitting in agitated conference with Mrs. Magglesark, discussing the strange behaviour of mistresses in general and Australian mistresses in particular. Happily there was Mr. Superbus. The faint sound of music came up from the servants’ hall as she descended the stairs. Mr. Superbus was playing a mouth-organ softly, almost musically. Aunt Lizzie sat before the kitchen fire, chin in hand. Uncle Isaac leant against the kitchen dresser, glowering at the musician. The harmonies were confirmed as she opened the door. “Had a pleasant evening?” she asked. “I’ve had nothing to eat but bread and cheese,” said Gordon. “This little joke of yours is going too far, Diana.” She looked at him aghast. “We didn’t have any dinner!” she said in dismay, tempered with the satisfaction that Dempsi was at that moment starving in his locked room. “I haven’t even had bread and cheese--it is time for you to go to bed.” “I’ll go when I please,” said Gordon loudly. Mr. Superbus shook his head reprovingly.