"I think Hugo's off his head," said John. "He was running round the garden last night, dashing himself against trees. He said he was chasing a burglar." Pat was not to be diverted into a discussion of Hugo's mental deficiencies. "Well, will you do your best, Johnnie? Don't just let things slide as if they didn't matter. I tell you, it's rotten for me. Father found me talking to Hugo the other day and behaved like something out of a super-film. He seemed sorry there wasn't any snow, so that he couldn't drive his erring daughter out into it. If he knew I was up here to-night he would foam with fury. He says I mustn't speak to you or Hugo or Mr. Carmody or Emily--not that I want to speak to Emily, the little blighter--nor your ox nor your ass nor anything that is within your gates. He's put a curse on the Hall. It's one of those comprehensive curses, taking in everything from the family to the mice in the kitchen, and I tell you I'm jolly well fed up. This place has always been just like a home to me, and you ..." John paused in the act of dipping his paddle into the water. "... and you have always been just like a brother ..." John dug the paddle down with a vicious jerk. "... and if Father thinks it doesn't affect me to be told I mustn't come here and see you, he's wrong. I suppose most girls nowadays would just laugh at him, but I can't. It isn't his being angry I'd mind--it would hurt his feelings so frightfully if I let him down and went fraternizing with the enemy. So I have to come here on the sly, and if there's one thing in the world I hate it's doing things on the sly. So do reason with that old pig of an uncle of yours, Johnnie. Talk to him like a mother." "Pat," said John fervently, "I don't know how it's going to be done, but if it can be done I'll do it." "That's the stuff! You're a funny old thing, Johnnie. In some ways you're so slow, but I believe when you really start out to do anything you generally put it through." "Slow?" said John, stung. "How do you mean, slow?" "Well, don't you think you're slow?" "In what way?" "Oh, just slow." In spite of the fact that the stars were shining bravely, the night was very dark, much too dark for John to be able to see Pat's face; he got the impression that, could he have seen it, he would have discovered that she was smiling that old mocking smile of hers. And somehow, though in the past he had often wilted meekly and apologetically beneath this smile, it filled him now with a surge of fury. He plied the paddle wrathfully, and the boat shot forward. "Don't go so fast," said Pat. "I thought I was slow," retorted John, sinking back through the years to the repartee of school days. Pat gurgled in the darkness. "Did I wound you, Johnnie? I'm sorry. You aren't slow. It's just prudence, I expect." Prudence! John ceased to paddle. He was tingling all over, and there had come upon him a strange breathlessness. "How do you mean, prudence?" "Oh, just prudence. I can't explain."