"Yes," she answered. "I am fonder than--" And then she stopped herself suddenly and flared scarlet. "Who are you talking about?" she demanded. "This young man of yours," I said. "Mr.--What's his name--Onions?" "Oh, that?" she answered. "Oh, yes; he's all right." "And if he wasn't?" I said, and she looked at me hard. "I told him," she said, "that if he would do what I asked him to do, I'd marry him. And he seems to have done it." "There are ways of doing everything," I said; and, seeing it wasn't going to break her heart, I told her just the plain facts. She listened without a word, and when I had finished she put her arms round my neck and kissed me. I am old enough to be her grandfather, but twenty years ago it might have upset me. "I think I shall be able to save Miss Bulstrode that three hundred pounds," she laughed, and ran upstairs and changed her things. When later I looked into the kitchen she was humming. Mr. John came up by the car, and I could see he was in one of his moods. "Pack me some things for a walking tour," he said. "Don't forget the knapsack. I am going to Scotland by the eight-thirty." "Will you be away long?" I asked him. "It depends upon how long it takes me," he answered. "When I come back I am going to be married." "Who is the lady?" I asked, though, of course, I knew. "Miss Bulstrode," he said. "Well," I said, "she--" "That will do," he said; "I have had all that from the three of them for the last two days. She is a Socialist, and a Suffragist, and all the rest of it, and my ideal helpmate. She is well off, and that will enable me to devote all my time to putting the world to rights without bothering about anything else. Our home will be the nursery of advanced ideas. We shall share together the joys and delights of the public platform. What more can any man want?" "You will want your dinner early," I said, "if you are going by the eight-thirty. I had better tell cook--" He interrupted me again. "You can tell cook to go to the devil," he said. I naturally stared at him. "She is going to marry a beastly little rotter of a rent collector that she doesn't care a damn for," he went on. I could not understand why he seemed so mad about it. "I don't see, in any case, what it's got to do with you," I said, "but, as a matter of fact, she isn't." "Isn't what?" he said, stopping short and turning on me. "Isn't going to marry him," I answered. "Why not?" he demanded. "Better ask her," I suggested. I didn't know at the time that it was a silly thing to say, and I am not sure that I should not have said it if I had. When he is in one of his moods I always seem to get into one of mine. I have looked after Mr. John ever since he was a baby, so that we do not either of us treat the other quite as perhaps we ought to. "Tell cook I want her," he said. "She is just in the middle--" I began.