"Yes, it is. Almost loud enough for father to hear. But I feel—I feel——" Her voice died away in an attenuated whisper. "What do you feel?" "As if—as if we were playing hide-and-seek in the dark. I’m rather frightened. I suppose it’s stupid. I——" James stood up, facing her. Passion quivered in his voice as he exclaimed: "I’m going to kiss the fear of me out of you—now!" "No, you ain’t!" said Quinney. *III* The lovers sprang apart as Quinney emerged from behind the screen. He addressed the trembling Posy first. "Thought it likely you might make a fool of yourself, and I’ve not been disappointed. Come on, mother!" Susan appeared, looking very confused and miserable. "Look at her," continued Quinney. "She’s blushin’ to the roots of her hair for you." At this Posy pulled herself together, and remarked defiantly: "I’m not the least little bit ashamed of myself!" "Sorry to hear that, my girl; it fair furs my tongue to find you here. Now then, like to take it sittin’ or standin’?" "Take what?" "The dose I’m goin’ to deal out to a deceitful, disobedient, ungrateful daughter. Sharper than a serpent’s tooth, you are!" So far, he had ignored James, who was standing back, not far from the door. "I’ll take it standing," replied Posy, "beside Jim." Then, to Quinney’s rage, she tripped across the room, and flung her arms round the young man’s neck. Susan, ever mindful, like a true Biddlecombe, of the proprieties, murmured gaspingly: "Posy! Please remember what you’ve not got on!" "This beats the band," said Quinney. "I call this rank mutiny." "It’s—it’s Nature," faltered Susan. "You hold your tongue, mother! A nice couple, I do declare! Can you cook, Miss Independence?" Posy removed her arms from James’s neck, but she remained standing beside him. "Cook? Not me. You know I can’t cook. Why?" "Thought not. Anything of a hand with your needle? "No." Quinney turned to Susan, who had sunk into a chair. The youth had faded out of her comely face. Every time that Quinney spoke she winced. A couple of tears were trickling down her cheeks. "Why didn’t you teach this young lady to use a broom, mother? Can she wash anything more useful than her own hands?" Susan shook her head helplessly. The situation was far beyond her. She faltered out: "Your orders, Joe. The child, you said, was to be brought up like a little princess." He stared at her, dimly perceiving that his Susan could not be described truthfully as standing shoulder to shoulder with him. "They tell me," he observed derisively, "that our royal Princesses have to learn such things as cookin’ and washin’, because revolutions do happen sometimes." Susan shrugged her shoulders. For the first time Quinney turned directly to James. The young man confronted his employer with a certain dignity not wasted upon Posy. He seemed to be quite ready to vindicate himself, when the opportunity came.