“Sir John is not returning home with you?” “No,” she answered anxiously. “He said he preferred to walk; but I’m sure he can have no idea of the state of the night. I have not seen him since before supper-time.” “I’ll seek him out and bring him to you; it’s a beastly night.” And he ran lightly up the steps, whilst they got as quickly under cover as possible. He was not long away, and returned, bringing Sir John along with him. “You surely are not walking yourself?” said Miss Crokerly, as he proceeded to close the door for them also. “Yes. It never occurred to me to order a carriage, and I have neither wife nor sister to be concerned about my getting wet.” “Then,” said she decidedly, “you must come with us. I noticed as you went up the steps your shoes are not at all suitable to the night.” It seemed almost as if he would decline, then suddenly he said “Thank you,” and stepped in beside Sir John, and they were off. Now, the frog was so bright that the carriage was quite pleasantly lit, for it had crept out from beneath Rosalie’s wraps to its accustomed place. Miss Crokerly then introduced him to Rosalie; but as he showed no signs of recognition, neither did she, but leant back in her corner and listened to the conversation. “What did you think of the theatricals?” asked Miss Crokerly. “I did not arrive in time for them. The secretary of Todbrook’s Home for Deaf and Dumb came to see me about a Christmas treat for them. For myself, I can imagine no treat that would appeal to incurables. But he has faith in turkey, and I think he said plum-pudding.” “It must be a terrible thing to be afflicted with either defect. What else are you going to do for them?” “I don’t know, I’m sure. I said I’d call to see him in the morning.” “Oh! you should have a Christmas tree, and a cinematograph, and take them all to the Pantomime to see the transformation scenes,” said Rosalie. And she sat up again, and her eyes were very big and bright, because the subject was especially interesting to her. The other three looked at her. “Are you a philanthropist?” asked Mr. Barringcourt, with a vein of coldness running in his words, in direct opposition to her heat. She laughed. “No; but I was told you were,” and leant back in her seat, and evidently felt safe enough to betray no outward fear. “I was speaking last night about your exertions on behalf of the deaf and dumb,” said Miss Crokerly, in explanation, recognising, without understanding it, the tone in each of their voices. “You were naturally prepossessed in my favour then,” and he looked at Rosalie again, speaking in a voice not free from sarcasm. “No. I simply recognised that you were doing your duty.” “Which you must admit is the hardest of all things.” “I take your word for it. From to-day I honour you as a martyr. I was not prepossessed in your favour at all. Forgive me for my stupidity.”