And if Henry had not sat on the wasp, his neck might again have been squeezed that evening. As it was, the danger period was over by the time he reappeared and jumped into the girl's lap. Not only had the sixth proposal been gently turned down--but James's plans for the near future had been settled for him in a most arbitrary manner. "Well, old man, how's the tail?" laughed the soldier. James Henry yawned--the subject seemed a trifle personal even amongst old friends. "Have you heard you're coming with me to France?" "And you must bring him to me as soon as I get over," cried the girl. "At once, dear lady. I'll ask for special leave, and if necessary an armistice." "Won't you bark at the Huns, my cherub?" She laughed and got up. "Go to your uncle--I'm going to dress." What happened then was almost more than even the most long-suffering terrier could stand. He was unceremoniously bundled into his uncle's arms by his mistress, and at the same moment she bent down. A strange noise was heard such as he had frequently noted, coming from the top of his own head, when his mistress was in an affectionate mood--a peculiar form of exercise he deduced, which apparently amused some people. But the effect on the soldier was electrical. He sprang out of his chair with a shout--"Monica--you little devil--come back," and James Henry fell winded to the floor. But a flutter of white disappearing indoors was the only answer.... "She's not sure, James, my son--she's not sure." The man pulled out his cigarette case and contemplated him thoughtfully. "And how the deuce are we to make her sure? I want it, and her father wants it, and so does she if she only knew it. They're the devil, James Henry--they're the devil." But his hearer did not want philosophy; he wanted his tummy rubbed. He lay with one eye closed, his four paws turned up limply towards the sky, and sighed gently. Never before had the suggestion failed; enthusiastic admirers had always taken the hint gladly, and he had graciously allowed them the pleasure. But this time--horror upon horror--not only was there no result, but in a dreamy, contemplative manner the soldier actually deposited his used and still warm match carefully on the spot where James Henry's wind had been. Naturally there was only one possible course open to him. He rose quietly, and left. It was only when he was thinking the matter over later that it struck him that his exit would have been more dignified if he hadn't sat down halfway across the lawn to scratch his right ear. It was more than likely that a completely false construction would be put on that simple action by anyone who didn't know he'd had words with Harriet Emily. * * * * *