“I expect you are spoiling me, and I’ve never been accustomed to it. You should treat me with stern severity, and you would find me improve wonderfully.” “And you just preaching unfailing suavity.” “Oh! I preach by the Creed of Contrary.” But Rosalie’s argumentative mood sprang really from the irritation that followed on the evening’s escapade. In a cooler moment, and on reflection, she was not over and above proud of the way in which she had fled so precipitately before the enemy. And yet what was there to be done? To have stood still was to have hazarded, so Rosalie thought, far more than she had any intention of hazarding. She registered a mental vow never to go out at night alone again, and wished, oh! wished most intensely, that nothing had tempted her out that night. In her own room the frog broke the silence by saying: “You seem very upset to-night.” “Yes. I—I met Mr. Barringcourt, and I ran away.” “What made you run?” “I was frightened of him.” “What harm could he work you?” “Oh! he might have persuaded me in a moment of weakness I owed him a debt of gratitude.” “And yet you have the kiss of freedom on your brow.” “Yes; but like most abstract things, it sank before the concrete.” “You’ll get over it by the morning. Sleep upon it.” “I should have had you with me. You have far less fear than I. The farther off the episodes of Marble House become the more I dread them. They seemed all right, and yet they were all wrong.” “Miss Crokerly said you would probably meet Mr. Barringcourt to-morrow night.” “Yes, I know. And it was only this morning I congratulated myself he was not in her set, and that I should never be likely to meet him.” “If you meet Mr. Barringcourt to-morrow night, you won’t run away—will you?” “No; because it will be light, and there will be people about, and I shall have you. No, I won’t run away in any case. But you will come with me?” “Of course! I should have very much enjoyed the fresh air to-night; but you did not invite me.” “I’m sorry. But I’ve paid the penalty of my negligence; from henceforth you must never leave me.” “What dress do you intend to wear to-morrow night?” “The one I have worn all along.” “It’s as shabby as if you’d been digging in it. But the morning may bring you another.” “I hope it may not be very heavy, in case I should have to depend on my heels again.” CHAPTER XXIV AT THE SEBBERENS’ The Sebberens were people who indulged greatly in private theatricals and other sorts of entertainment. With the amateur they included the professional, and in between the acts, songs and recitations were contributed by the latter. Mr. Sebberen had been engaged in pork, and had made enough money thereby to make the pig respected—as an investment, anyway. He married a waitress in a restaurant, who was neither more nor less charming and handsome than most of her class. She had ambitions, and was young.