She did not go to bed until she had maddened about half the people in the room. Even Mrs. Meyner found it difficult at times to make excuses for Aunt Julia. Maurice Grey managed to be moderately polite to her as a rule; he generally shammed stupidity, and refused to see the point of any of her sarcasms. He found afterwards that this style of treatment had impressed Miss Julia Stone. When Marjorie came round to say good-night to Maurice, she spoke to him about the beetle. “Do you want that dead beetle?” she asked. “Shall I keep it for you?” “Yes, keep it.” “Are you going on collecting again then?” “No, I don’t think so--but it is too good a specimen to throw away just anywhere. How would you like to be thrown away?” “It’s not quite the same thing, you know, Maurice. I’m more important. But we’ll treat this beetle very well--you’ve just played a funeral march for it--and then, perhaps, its ghost will come and tell us all about beetles, and what beetles think about men, and if they know anything that we don’t.” “Yes, treat it kindly,” said Maurice, smiling. “Much can always be done by kindness.” Marjorie went out of the room laughing; but on the following morning, when she appeared at breakfast, she was very quiet and subdued. A note came from Miss Dean, regretting that--“owing to a slight indisposition”--she was unable to come to teach Marjorie that morning. Even the prospect of a day’s holiday did not seem to cheer her up. Maurice found her alone in the garden about an hour afterwards. “What’s up, Marjorie?” he said. “Aren’t you well?” “Oh, yes, I’m always well--I’ve got something to tell you though. I saw it last night.” “Saw what?” “The beetle.” Maurice was a little startled. He too had had a curious dream in which the beetle had figured. “Look here, Marjorie,” he said; “I’ve nothing particular to do this morning, and I believe you’d be the better for a walk. We’ll go over to Weyford, and then go up to St. Margaret’s, if you don’t mind climbing the hill.” “Oh, that would be lovely! That’s just the thing. We shan’t get back to lunch, you know.” “That’s all right. We’ll lunch in Weyford. I’ll go in and talk to Mrs. Meyner about it, and you go and get ready.” The morning sunlight and the cool wind made walking pleasant. That unkempt bird, whom we have called Magnanimity, was taking out quite a young bird for a little exercise. They saw Maurice and Marjorie walking together. “Those are men,” said the young bird. “Bless your heart--I’ve seen lots of ’em.” “Just drop that,” said Magnanimity, sternly. “There’s nothing more sickening than to hear a mere chick like yourself setting up to be a complete bird of the world. Fancy taking any notice of contemptible, ugly men!” “That young she-man,” said the mere chick, “isn’t at all ugly. I often wish I were a man.”