Dimly he was aware of a wordless exclamation from the girl beside him, but he was too distraught to think of her now. It was as if all the oaths pent up within his bosom for so many weary days were struggling and jostling to see which could get out first. They cannoned into each other, they linked hands and formed parties, they got themselves all mixed up in weird vowel-sounds, the second syllable of some red-hot verb forming a temporary union with the first syllable of some blistering noun. “----! ----!! ----!!! ----!!!! ----!!!!!” cried Chester. Felicia stood staring at him. In her eyes was the look of one who sees visions. “***!!! ***!!! ***!!! ***!!!” roared Chester, in part. A great wave of emotion flooded over the girl. How she had misjudged this silver-tongued man! She shivered as she thought that, had this not happened, in another five minutes they would have parted for ever, sundered by seas of misunderstanding, she cold and scornful, he with all his music still within him. “Oh, Mr. Meredith!” she cried, faintly. With a sickening abruptness Chester came to himself. It was as if somebody had poured a pint of ice-cold water down his back. He blushed vividly. He realised with horror and shame how grossly he had offended against all the canons of decency and good taste. He felt like the man in one of those “What Is Wrong With This Picture?” things in the advertisements of the etiquette-books. “I beg--I beg your pardon!” he mumbled, humbly. “Please, please, forgive me. I should not have spoken like that.” “You should! You should!” cried the girl, passionately. “You should have said all that and a lot more. That awful man ruining your record round like that! Oh, why am I a poor weak woman with practically no vocabulary that’s any use for anything!” Quite suddenly, without knowing that she had moved, she found herself at his side, holding his hand. “Oh, to think how I misjudged you!” she wailed. “I thought you cold, stiff, formal, precise. I hated the way you sniggered when you foozled a shot. I see it all now! You were keeping it in for my sake. Can you ever forgive me?” Chester, as I have said, was not a very quick-minded young man, but it would have taken a duller youth than he to fail to read the message in the girl’s eyes, to miss the meaning of the pressure of her hand on his. “My gosh!” he exclaimed wildly. “Do you mean--? Do you think--? Do you really--? Honestly, has this made a difference? Is there any chance for a fellow, I mean?” Her eyes helped him on. He felt suddenly confident and masterful. “Look here--no kidding--will you marry me?” he said. “I will! I will!” “Darling!” cried Chester.