Diggs had recovered his urbanity. "She is the same Miss Fairweather, sir. I recognise her from your description. It may interest you to hear, sir, that she acted just as queerly as you when I told her that you--" "What did you tell her?" demanded Flanders, seeing that Diggs hesitated. "That you had a scar on your thumb, sir. By the way, HAVE you?" "I have!" exclaimed the young man. "Well, by George! Will wonders never cease? Where is she? You say she isn't coming down--but, of course, not! She couldn't think of it, knowing that I am here. I say, will you--will you see that she gets a message from me? Wait a second. I'll write it now. Just slip a note to her--Great Scott! What's that?" The house seemed to be clattering down about his head. "That, sir," responded Diggs, drawing a deep breath, "is the charge of the light brigade. Hinfants in arms, you might say. There's no stopping them now. 'Ere they come." And down the wide stairway streamed the shrieking vanguard of the Christmas revellers--seven or eight unrestrained youngsters who had snatched liberty from the nurses the instant Mr. Bingle opened the play-room door at the top of the house. Down the steps they came, regardless of stumbles and tumbles--an avalanche of joy. Diggs, from the doorway, raked the stairway and its squirming horde with an exploring eye. "She is coming, sir. Fairly tall and slender, sir, and--" "Good Lord!" gasped Flanders, helplessly. "This is more than I can stand. Diggs, do--do men ever faint?" There was no reply. Three sturdy youngsters collided with Diggs. There was nothing he could say--with lucidity. CHAPTER VII SEARCHERS REWARDED Miss Fairweather bowed gravely to Flanders as she passed. Diggs observed her closely. He was conscious of a sensation of disappointment. He had counted on a scene--an interesting scene. Circumstances justified something more thrilling than a mere nod of the head, his intelligence argued, and it was really too bad to have it turn out so tamely. Mr. Flanders, looking a trifle dazed and bewildered, contrived to hide his emotions in a most commendable manner. A keener observer than Diggs, however, would have detected a strange pallor in the young woman's smooth cheek and an ominous shadow between her finely pencilled brows. Even Diggs might have observed these symptoms but for the fact that she kept her face rigidly averted. Mr. Flanders, from his position near the door--he seemed to have taken root there--was favoured with no more than a glimpse of the tip of a small ear and the faintest suggestion of a cheek's outline. His own face, entirely visible to Diggs, was scarlet--quite frankly so.