At this critical juncture the door was opened, and Mr. West, somewhat irascible from having been left so long alone (Mrs. Leach was dressing for dinner) came in, saying, “Well--well--well--Madeline, what _is_ the meaning of this? the room is half in darkness. What the deuce has kept you--has that fellow----? Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Wynne, I did not know you were still here. Can’t have seen much of the pictures, unless you and Madeline have eyes like cats.” (No, they had only been fighting like cats.) “Answer me, Madeline,” whispered Laurence in a hurried undertone, holding her hand like a vice. This action was not seen by Mr. West, who had his back to them, and was occupied with the poker. “Married or single? Now is the time--I shall tell him.” “_Single!_” replied Madeline, hastily wrenching her hand away, spurred by immediate fears, and regardless of all but the present moment. “So be it,” was the low rejoinder. And Mr. West, as he vigorously poked the fire, and furiously pressed the bell, had no more idea than poker or button of the important tie that had just been severed. Mr. Wynne, looking rather white and stern, came over, and again took his leave and, without any farewell to Madeline, who was still standing in the background in the dusk, he opened the door and departed. “What have you been doing in here all this time?” asked Mr. West querulously. “What the deuce have you been about? Looked to _me_ as if you and that fellow had been having a row. Never saw him before. Nice gentlemanly chap. None of your ‘Yaw-haw’ sort of people, with no more brains than a pin, and as much conceit as a flock of peacocks. No, this man has sense. I----By the way, Maddie, you look rather put out, too, eh? He has not been proposing for you, has he? Come now, tell your old daddy,” facetiously. “Make a clean breast of it.” “No, papa,” she answered, in a rather shaky tone, “he has not; that is just the last thing he would do. You won’t see him again, that’s one comfort!” she added, with a final blaze of temper. “Comfort, comfort? Not a bit of it. I’d like to see more of him; and when we come back, remind me to ask him to dinner--he belongs to the Foolscap Club--don’t forget. What’s his name--Wills--Witts?” “Wynne.” “Yes, yes, to be sure! A barrister. Humph! one of the Wynnes of Rivals Wynne--good old family. Looks a clever chap, too. Bound to _win_, eh? Not bad, eh?” chuckling. “But what were you talking about. You’ve not told me _that_ yet?” “We were quarrelling, papa, that’s all. Our first and last quarrel,” attempting to laugh it off, with a laugh that was almost hysterical. “There’s the first gong!” “So it is; and I’m quite peckish. Look sharp and dress!” setting an example on the spot by hurrying out of the room, stick in hand, which stick went tapping all the way down the corridor, till the sound was lost in the distance.