“Thank goodness that, as he’s got two men-guests to attend to, it’ll be the last of him that I shall be obliged to put up with this evening!” thought I, as I rose to follow Mrs. Waters. “He’ll have to disappear into the den or the billiard-room with _them_. _I_ shall have an evening off. Yes! a regular ‘evening off,’ like the maids! Only, I suppose, a housemaid uses those evenings to _see_ her young man. With me, it’s just the other way round. ‘No followers allowed’ indeed! ‘Nothing BUT following’ has been my trouble. So hurray for a nice peaceful evening in the drawing-room with his mother and Blanche. After that _ghastly_ meal, how I shall enjoy the rest!” Even as I was congratulating myself upon it, my hopes were again dashed to the ground—this time, of course, by the hand of Uncle Albert. “No, no, Billy. The Major and I are too old not to let you have your bit of time to yourselves now, aren’t we, Montresor?” “_Rather!_” with hollow geniality from the Major. Apparently it’s one thing for a man to mention his “declining years” and add about fifteen of them to his age. It’s quite another to find himself claimed as a contemporary by a man who’s ten years older than he is! “We two old fogies can look after ourselves, my boy. We’re not going to keep you in here, away from your girl. Not a word!—that’s quite all right—quite understood! Been young ourselves once, though you may not believe it—off with you!” And, to my unspeakable fury, he closed the dining-room door upon what he’s pleased to call “these young people.” The door of the drawing-room had already been shut upon Mrs. Waters and Blanche! Was there to be _no_ respite, then, after the awful meal I had just sat through? A nice evening it had been—this dinner which I suppose had been meant to be so jolly for all of us, as well as for the two guests! Well! at the end of it all here was Major Montresor piqued; Theo in tears; the parlour-maids glared at, and Cariad kicked! Even Uncle Albert hadn’t been able to remember the name of the horrible picture, whatever it was, that he meant to give “us.” And now here was I, left stranded once more face to face with my fuming employer; only, this time, with the memory of that child’s light-hearted mockery of stage-management between us! CHAPTER XVIII THE FIRST KISS “Well! I suppose there is nothing for it but to go in here,” I said, marching, with my head well up, to the door of the den. The Governor was only just in time to open it for me. Without a look at him I walked in, making straight for the piano-stool. I sat down. I planted my foot firmly upon the loud pedal. My fingers clutched at the first chords of a spirited war-song as if it were a life-buoy. “Do sing!” I heard myself fling almost imperiously at my employer. He sang—not well. “And please keep on singing,” I said, into the last chords of the song. “_Loud_ ones, please.”