Hazel rose and rang the bell, then reseated herself and steadfastly returned her uncle’s gaze of mute hostility. The door opened and the same servant appeared, silently closed the door behind him, and stood awaiting orders. "Thomas," said Hazel. "Yes, Miss." The man advanced a few steps. "Your master wishes to make you this little present in recognition of your long and faithful services," and she handed the astonished man the obnoxious ten-pound note. "Doubtless he will do much more for you some day," she added. "Thank you, Miss," said the dazed Thomas. Mr. Desborough threw back his head and broke into a hearty laugh, to the added confusion of the poor man, who had not heard his master laugh for years. But Uncle Percival offered no explanation. Recovering his serenity, he turned to the servant. "Order the carriage for 2.30 to take Miss Le Mesurier to Paddington Station," he said briefly. "That is the least you can do for the young lady; eh, Thomas?" The footman left the room, and Mr. Desborough turned to his niece. "Well," he said, "I acknowledge that you have worsted me in the fray; and now, I suppose, I am committed to leave the fellow a legacy," and he laughed again. "You would wish to do so whether I had committed you to it or not, would not you?" Hazel asked. She had fastened on her hat, and was now proceeding to draw on her gloves. Percival Desborough regarded her critically. "Have you any lovers, child?" he asked abruptly. Hazel was about to deny stoutly the existence of any such factor in her life, when a vision of Digby Travers rose before her startled imagination, to her discomfort and dismay. "Well?" queried Uncle Percival. "You seem to be in uncertainty. Don’t tell me that a girl does not know when a young fellow is making himself a fool over her." Hazel raised a somewhat perplexed and flushed countenance, but she looked her august relative squarely in the eyes. "If you had asked me that yesterday," she said, "I should have answered no, without hesitation—no one could have been more sure; but it was only this morning that I began to be half afraid——" she paused. "Don’t like him, eh?" her uncle interposed. "What is his name?" "I think I won’t tell you, please," she answered. "You see, I simply must be mistaken: it would be too ridiculous." "Quite so," returned Uncle Percival. "You probably are mistaken. It would be too ridiculous, quite too inconceivable," and he regarded her quizzically. "There is the carriage," Hazel said. "Good-bye, Uncle Percival." She gave him her hand, and was surprised to find it retained—awkwardly and without sentimentality, but, nevertheless, Uncle Percival held on to the small member with a goodly grip. "You would not care to give a cross old man a kiss, I suppose?" he asked, in an odd voice. Hazel bent lower, and with gracious dignity saluted her uncle’s cheek.