The walk home was saddened by the thought that it was the last. Able to face the situation, both knew there was no hope that they should be allowed to continue their acquaintance, and knew that now it was discovered, they would very soon be as widely separated as the efforts of their elders could arrange. Their pace slowed down as they neared The Campanile. “Dear old place,” said Dorcas, as the house came into their ken. “Dear old nothing,” returned Bates. “I think it’s an eyesore, don’t you? That bunch of Mexican onyx ought to be taken away to make kings’ sarcophagi!” “What a thought! Yes, it’s hideous,—but I didn’t mean its appearance. Its dear to me because we’ve lived here together, and I’ve a premonition that before long widely separated roofs will cover our heads.” “I’ll conquer somehow!” Bates declared. “I haven’t made many protestations, but I tell you, Dork, I’m coming out on top of this heap!” “What are you going to do? Something desperate?” “Maybe so,—maybe only something queer. But get you, I shall and I will! You’re intended for my mate by an Omniscient Fate, and I’m going to find some way to help said Fate along. She seems to be sidetracked for the moment.” “I wish I had more faith in your Fate helping. Oh, don’t look like that! I’ve faith enough in _you_,—but helping Fate is a tricky game.” “All right, I’m willing to play a tricky game, then!” “You are, son! Against whom?” And the pair entering the wide doorway, met Sir Herbert Binney coming out. “Oh, hello, Uncle,” cried Bates, grasping the situation with both hands. “Let me present you to Miss Everett; Dorcas, this is my uncle.” “How do you do, Uncle Bunny?” said Dorcas, quite unwitting that, in her surprised embarrassment, she had used the very word she had feared she would utter! And an unfortunate mistake it proved. The smiling face of the Englishman grew red and wrathful, assuming, as he did, and not without cause, that the young woman intended to guy him. “Daughter of your own mother, hey?” he said to her. “Ready with a sharp tongue for any occasion!” Apology was useless, all that quick-witted Dorcas could think of was to carry it off as a jest. “No, sir,” she said, with an adorable glance of coquetry at the angry face, “but I have an unbreakable habit of using nicknames,—and as I’ve heard of you from Ricky, and I almost feel as if I knew you,—I, why, I just naturally called you Bunny for a pet name.” “Oho, you did! Well, I can’t believe that. I think you’re making fun of my trade! And that’s the one thing I won’t stand! Perhaps when your precious Ricky depends on those same buns for his daily food, you won’t feel so scornful of them!” “I never dreamed you were ashamed of them, sir,” and Dorcas gave up the idea of peacemaking and became irritating. “Nor am I!” he blazed. “You are an impertinent chit, and I bid you good-day!” “Now you _have_ done it!” said Bates. CHAPTER III The Scrawled Message