"I say, Pen, I really don’t understand you, you know! I say, this is rot! You mustn’t cry; I can’t stand it. And you keep on saying it’s your only one in a very silly way. You irritate me very much, Pen!" "Why, Bob?" asked the desolate creature at his side. "You could stop all this if you wanted to!" "Not now," said Pen, "since we’ve quarrelled!" "Rot!" said Bob. "You tell me who it is and I’ll bring him along. But I’m glad it isn’t Timothy, you know." Timothy was now with Geordie in the other car. "I can’t tell you," said Pen. "Then don’t snivel, please," said Bob, crossly, "or I shall drive into something and kill the baby." "Oh!" said Pen, "oh, please don’t!" "I think it’s very hard lines," said Bob, "especially as Geordie and Tim know, and Miss Mackarness. If they know, I ought to." "I had to tell them, Bob. Besides, they knew him," said the incautious Pen. Bob’s eyebrows lifted, and he drove rather fast down the next straight bit of road. "I say," he said to himself, "I ought to make something of that." He thought very hard and did not speak for a mile. He thought all the more. "Tim knows ’em all, of course. And Geordie may, though I remember his saying he didn’t. But who does Miss Mackarness know? If I can spot that, I can spot the winner." He went back to the time of Pen’s youth, which he only knew by hearsay, as he wasn’t much more than born then, and went through the list one by one. "By Jove!" he said, suddenly, and Penelope started. "Yes, Bob." "No," said Bob, thoughtfully; "no, I’m not sure." "What aren’t you sure of, dear?" "Him," said Bob, and Penelope sighed. After another mile’s silence, Bob spoke again. "By Jove!" "You said that before," cried Pen, irritably. He turned his eyes upon her, and she saw them full of strange intelligence. "Oh, what is it?" she asked, in alarm. Bob shook his head. "You’ve told me who it is," he said. "I haven’t." "You have," said Bob. "Pen, you’re a wonder! I say, are all girls like you?" Penelope said she didn’t know, and demanded his meaning. "If they are, they’re interesting but trying," said Bob. "You couldn’t have made more fuss about it if it had been Bunting. Pen, you are a wonder. Well, I don’t mind; I like him well enough. He’s all right. I hope Bill will like him." "You are an annoying, irritating boy," said Pen, crossly. "And you know nothing." "Bar him and Miss Mackarness and Timothy and Smith, I’m the only one that does," said Bob, drily. "I know you, Pen. You were ashamed of him, after all you used to say. All right, don’t get angry. I’m all right. I’ll keep it dark till you say pull up the blinds. It’s not my business. But I’m glad I know. For granny doesn’t, and no one has guessed, not even Baker. And he’s had great experience with girls in all parts of the world, just as he has had with dogs." Pen wept. "You are saying all this to worry me. How can you know?" she cried.