“Everything, the whole game. He and you are going away to-morrow morning.” “Dicky! what on earth do you mean?” “I’ll tell you. But first tell me, what did you hear last night?” “I lay awake waiting, that is to say, I didn’t go to bed; just lay down with my clothes on. I heard the clock strike twelve; then a long time passed, and then,” said Violet, “I heard a most awful yell.” “That was when we caught him. Go on.” “It went on to squeals just like a pig. I heard doors banging, and _his_ voice and his language, and other voices, then everything was quiet. Then I lay listening to Lady Seagrave snoring. She is so deaf she heard nothing, and she sleeps in the next room. Then I heard your knock, I said ‘Yes,’ and then I heard——” “Yes, go on.” “Your dear voice,” said Violet, nestling her cheek against his shoulder. Mr Fanshawe gulped, and pressed her to him. “Then,” said Violet, “you asked me to open the door and say good-night, and I said ‘No,’ and you said ‘Yes,’ and then I opened it. Then I said good-night and shut my door, and—that’s all.” Mr Fanshawe groaned. “I wish it were,” he said. “How?” “He saw us.” “When?” “When I—Violet, dear—kissed you.” Her face flushed scarlet. “I was coming down the passage,” went on Mr Fanshawe, “going to my room, after leaving you, when some one grasped me by the arm. It was uncle. He had been standing in the dark at his door, and he saw everything, for, you remember, I had a lighted candle in my hand.” “Go on,” said Violet. “He drew me into his room——” “Tell me exactly what he said.” “I never swear before ladies,” said Mr Fanshawe, with a miserable attempt at jocularity, “but what he said, as far as I remember, was something like this: ‘Now, sir—now, sir—now, sir—now, sir—what the blank—what the blank—what the blank do you mean, sir? What the blank do you mean, you hound?’” “He called you a hound?” “He called me a hound.” “But this is serious, Dicky.” “Very especially for me, as I could not strike him.” “What did you say?” “I said, I believe, ‘Thank you, sir.’ It wasn’t a very brilliant observation, under the circumstances.” Violet put her hands round his neck, drew his face down and kissed it. “I love you for having said it,” said she. “That makes up. But I felt pretty bad, never felt worse. I declare to heaven,” suddenly broke out Mr Fanshawe, “I can’t understand human nature. Here’s a man as brave as they make them, a D.S.O., and all that, with the heart of a bitter old maid——” “Go on,” said Violet. “What happened then?” “He said things about you, and—I ran away.” “Ran away?” “You see, if I had stayed I must have knocked him down. I told him he was a liar before I left him, though; other things, too, that I want to forget——” Violet sighed one of those deep sighs that speak not of sorrow or lackadaisical affectation. Her eyes were sparkling. “If I could be glad about anything so horrible,” she said, “I would be glad he spoke like that about me, for now I don’t care if I do——”