I don’t know whether it was for a minute or for half a second that I was given over to feeling the true horror of this position; to wondering what on earth my make-believe _fiancé_ meant me to do about it—what _he_ meant to do. Then he—the Governor—decided the matter for me. With the suddenest of movements he ducked swiftly forward and bent, without further look or word, to kiss me. I was too petrified to draw back even the fraction of an inch from the touch of his lips; it brushed by, scarcely stirring on my cheek, to fall almost roughly on the ripple of dark hair above my ear. Then he bolted to the door and held it open for my headlong exit from the den. To the sound of an explosive “_That’s_ more like it!” from Uncle Waters. “You surely never——” (Slam! from the door) I tore across the hall. I didn’t pause for any more good nights in the drawing-room. I rushed upstairs to my bedroom. Here I flung myself down into one of the rosy-chintz chairs by the open window and gasped while I tried to collect my whirling wits. * * * * * What _had_ happened? What was he—that young man—doing to _allow_ anything to happen? His “official” _fiancée_? Was this what he meant by “official”—it wasn’t what _I_ meant, and I would let him know that. I was furious with him—His uncle’s fault?—Yes! But he ought to have managed so that _That_ wasn’t thrust upon me like this. I _was_ angry! Then I couldn’t help laughing a little at the mad incongruity of it. Kissed, by Still Waters! What could he think I thought of it? What was _he_ thinking about it all now, downstairs there with those other two horrible men? What was his Uncle Albert thinking? Chuckling and laughing, ho, ho! I expected.... That ghastly moment! That ghastly, _ghastly_ moment!... Thank goodness that the Governor did at least end it as soon as was humanly possible. And, after all, that quick gesture of his hardly counts as a kiss. I’ve seen the love-scenes in private theatricals carried out just like that by bashful amateurs. A stage-kiss; a sham one; in fact, no kiss at all. Well, that, anyhow, was decent of Still Waters.... But _was_ it? Was he thinking of _my_ feelings? I don’t believe he was. I believe—at least, a month ago I might have believed—with the rest of the girls at the office, that that would be his only conception of kissing a girl. I can’t believe that now—not of a brother of Theo’s and Blanche’s—not of a son of Mrs. Waters’s! His father, Blanche said, was so devoted to her ... their boy would have inherited some sort of idea of the real thing! Besides, a young man who’s already surprised me by being able to sing like that, and to be keen on dancing, and to win swimming competitions, and to look, sometimes, quite _human_! Oh, no! It was _meant_ for being decent. He’d scarcely touched me—except just on the hair. Then I felt furious again.