John felt depressed. The picture she had conjured up was not a flattering one; and, as for this "Poor Old Johnnie!" stuff, it struck just the note he most wanted to avoid. If one thing is certain in the relations of the sexes, it is that the Poor Old Johnnies of this world get nowhere. But before he could put any of these feelings into words Pat had changed the subject. "Johnnie," she said, "what's all this trouble between your uncle and Father? I had a letter from Father a couple of weeks ago, and as far as I could make out Mr. Carmody seems to have been trying to murder him. What's it all about?" Not so eloquently, nor with such a wealth of imagery as Colonel Wyvern had employed in sketching out the details of the affair of the dynamite outrage for the benefit of Chas. Bywater, Chemist, John answered the question. "Good heavens!" said Pat. "I--I hope...." said John. "What do you hope?" "Well, I--I hope it's not going to make any difference?" "Difference? How do you mean?" "Between us. Between you and me, Pat." "What sort of difference?" John had his cue. "Pat, darling, in all these years we've known one another haven't you ever guessed that I've been falling more and more in love with you every minute? I can't remember a time when I didn't love you. I loved you as a kid in short skirts and a blue jersey. I loved you when you came back from that school of yours, looking like a princess. And I love you now more than I have ever loved you. I worship you, Pat darling. You're the whole world to me, just the one thing that matters the least little bit. And don't you try to start laughing at me again now, because I've made up my mind that, whatever else you laugh at, you've got to take me seriously. I may have been Poor Old Johnnie in the past, but the time has come when you've got to forget all that. I mean business. You're going to marry me, and the sooner you make up your mind to it, the better." That was what John had intended to say. What he actually did say was something briefer and altogether less effective. "Oh, I don't know," said John. "Do you mean you're afraid I'm going to stop being friends with you just because my father and your uncle have had a quarrel?" "Yes," said John. It was not quite all he had meant, but it gave the general idea. "What a weird notion! After all these years? Good heavens, no. I'm much too fond of you, Johnnie." Once more John had his cue. And this time he was determined that he would not neglect it. He stiffened his courage. He cleared his throat. He clutched the tablecloth. "Pat...." "Oh, there's Hugo at last," she said, looking past him. "And about time. I'm starving. Hullo! Who are the people he's got with him? Do you know them?"