“And always says out what she thinks,” her brother informed me. “That’s why—if you don’t mind—I am going to continue calling you ‘Nancy’ even when we are alone.” “Oh, certainly,” I said softly. “And I suppose I must practise trying not to feel afraid of you.” He looked sharply at me, but I know there was no expression in my face, and my eyes seemed fixed upon the hands in my lap, upon the ring I was turning, idly, round my engagement-finger. “Afraid of me?” he took up. “You?” “Oh, Mr. Waters—I _beg_ your pardon, I didn’t mean to use that name again. I was going to say, you know that we are all terrified to death of you—at the office.” I know he guessed that I meant “_but this is not the office, and I’ve lost all the wholesome awe that I still had of you only yesterday, and I’m no more terrified of you than Cariad is, now!_” Without looking directly at him, I saw his keen, blonde face flush a little under its tan—this City-fied young man is oddly sunburned—and his firmly-fitted lips moved as if he were going to say something but thought better of it. After a pause he opened them again and asked: “Do you smoke—er—Nancy?” “No, thanks very much,” I said primly. Silence fell. The Governor cleared his throat. I knew he literally couldn’t think what to say next, and I exulted inwardly. I felt as if I really were getting a little of my own back now—not only for the awkwardness and unpleasantness due to the “engagement,” but for everything I’ve loathed while I’ve been at the Near Oriental—the dreary journey there morning after morning, the monotony, the irksomeness, the daily looming terror of “the sack,” the hated hoverings round me of Mr. Dundonald and his “_talk_-ing!” _Oh_, how my employer was longing for me to “talk” at _that_ moment! to say something—anything! But I wouldn’t. I think I could have let that lagging silence last for quite another five minutes as far as I was concerned, only I was afraid I might break into wild laughter unless I spoke. So I gave it up, and suggested gravely and helpfully: “I _have_ got some fancy-work with me, but I left it in the drawing-room. Shall I go back and fetch it? Or—wouldn’t that quite _do_?” “Afraid not,” said the Governor grimly. “It seems so stupid to sit here doing nothing; for you, too,” I added sympathetically. “If you have brought any letters down here from the office, you might, perhaps, care to dictate them to me——” “Thank you, no,” said Mr. Waters firmly. “I seldom do any business out of business-hours.” I turned my ring again ostentatiously. I hope he knew I was pointing out to him how _my_ “business” had to go on all day long—the woman’s work, in fact, being never done! My next mild suggestion was, “Do you play picquet?” “Don’t know one card from another.” I sighed, as if with mingled regret and boredom.