‘I say that Mr. Feversham, like a gentleman, does not boast of it, but pleads that you have indulged him with the privileges of a lover. His word has been questioned--his honour is at stake. Have you so indulged it, may one ask?’ Haidee assumed the airs of the coquette who must fain make admissions. ‘I--suppose so,’ she breathed, with a smile which included everybody. ‘Very good,’ said the earl. ‘It may be that Mr. Damerel has had reason to believe that he alone was entitled to those privileges. Eh?’ ‘Boys are so silly!’ said Haidee. ‘And Lucian is so serious and old-fashioned. And all boys like to kiss me. What a fuss to make about nothing!’ ‘I quite understand your position and your meaning, my dear,’ said the earl. ‘I have heard similar sentiments from other ladies.’ He turned to Lucian. ‘Well?’ he said, with a sharp, humorous glance. Lucian had turned very pale, but a dark flush still clouded his forehead. He put aside his rapier, which until then he had held tightly, and he turned to Dickie. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said; ‘I was wrong--quite wrong. I offer you my sincere apologies. I have behaved ill--I am sorry.’ Dickie looked uncomfortable and shuffled about. ‘Oh, rot!’ he said, holding out his bandaged hand. ‘It’s all right, old chap. I don’t mind at all now that you know I’m not a liar. I--I’m awfully sorry, too. I didn’t know you were spoons on Haidee, you know--I’m a bit dense about things. Never mind, I shan’t think any more of it, and besides, girls aren’t worth--at least, I mean--oh, hang it, don’t let’s say any more about the beastly affair!’ Lucian pressed his hand. He turned, looked at the earl, and made him a low and ceremonious bow. Lord Simonstower rose from his seat and returned it with equal ceremony. Without a glance in Haidee’s direction Lucian strode from the hall--he had forgotten Sprats. He had, indeed, forgotten everything--the world had fallen in pieces. An hour later Sprats, tracking him down with the unerring sagacity of her sex, found him in a haunt sacred to themselves, stretched full length on the grass, with his face buried in his arms. She sat down beside him and put her arm round his neck and drew him to her. He burst into dry, bitter sobs. ‘Oh, Sprats!’ he said. ‘It’s all over--all over. I believed in her ... and now I shall never believe in anybody again!’ CHAPTER IX That night, when the last echoes of the village street had died away, and the purple and grey of the summer twilight was dissolving into the deep blue and gold of night, Sprats knelt at the open window of her bedroom, staring out upon the valley with eyes that saw nothing. She was thinking and wondering, and for the first time in her life she wished that a mother’s heart and a mother’s arms were at hand--she wanted to hear the beating love of the one and feel the protecting strength of the other.