"No, no," she said quickly; "that's where it's hard--when you're beaten. But do you consider yourself beaten?" "Up to now, certainly." "And you really are not convinced?" she asked, eyeing him with a look of candid appeal to his better nature. "It is your fault, Mrs. Witt." "My fault?" "Yes. Why are you so hard to forget?" George thought there was no harm in putting it in a pleasant way. "Ah, why was Miss--now is it Game or Games?--so hard to forget?" "It is, or rather was, Game. And I suppose she was hard to forget for the same reason as you--would be." "And what is that?" "If you ask my cousin, no doubt he will tell you." Neaera smiled. "What more can I do?" she asked. "Your people didn't know me. I have produced a letter showing I was somewhere else." "Excuse me----" "Well, well, then, a copy of a letter." "What purports to be a copy." "How glad I am I'm not a lawyer! It seems to make people so suspicious." "It's a great pity you didn't keep the original." Neaera said nothing. Perhaps she did not agree. "But I suppose you didn't send for me to argue about the matter?" "No. I sent for you to propose peace. Mr. Neston, I am so weary of fighting. Why will you make me fight?" "It's not for my pleasure," said George. "For whose, then?" she asked, stretching out her arms with a gesture of entreaty. "Cannot we say no more about it?" "With all my heart." "And you will admit you were wrong?" "That is saying more about it." "You cannot enjoy the position you are in." "I confess that." "Mr. Neston, do you never think it's possible you are wrong? But no, never mind. Will you agree just to drop it?" "Heartily. But there's the _Bull's-eye_." "Oh, bother the _Bull's-eye_! I'll go and see the editor," said Neaera. "He's a stern man, Mrs. Witt." "He won't be so hard to deal with as you. There, that's settled. Hurrah! Will you shake hands, Mr. Neston?" "By all means." "With a thief?" "With you, thief or no thief. And I must tell you you are very----" "What?" "Well, above small resentments." "Oh, what does it matter? Suppose I did take the boots?" "Shoes," said George. Neaera burst into a laugh. "You are very accurate." "And you are very inaccurate, Mrs. Witt." "I shall always be amused when I meet you. I shall know you have your hand on your watch." "Oh yes. I retract nothing." "Then it is peace?" "Yes." Neaera sat up and gave him her hand, and the peace was ratified. But it so chanced that Neaera's sudden movement roused the cat. He yawned and got up, arching his back, and digging his claws into the hearth-rug. "Bob," said Neaera, "don't spoil the rug." George's attention was directed to the animal, and, as he looked at it, he started. Bob's change of posture had revealed a serious deficiency: he had no tail, or the merest apology for a tail.