"Oh yes, you’ve said so——" He was far too excited to perceive that she was leading him into a trap cunningly contrived. "Meant it, too! Man o’ my word, I am!" Susan stood up. "Man of your word," she repeated ironically. "Tell me you was joking when you threatened to turn young Posy into the street?" His mouth opened, his eyes protruded, as if he were a victim of that rare malady known as Graves’s disease. Had his Susan plotted and planned to trip him up? Was she a superlative actress? He moistened his parched lips with his tongue, measuring his will against hers, sorry for her, but sorrier still for himself. Then he said more calmly: "Young Posy needn’t leave us unless she wants to. I’ll keep on James. I’ll sweeten his salary again to please you, but our child ain’t for the likes of him. He’s no class." Posy interrupted, with a toss of her head. "James is good enough class for a child of yours." Quinney curbed an angry retort. His temper was at last under control. He said quietly: "It comes to this, Posy. You’ve got to choose between James Miggott and us. Now, not another word. You scoot off to bed. We’ll talk of this again to-morrow." "I shall choose Jim to-morrow." Then Susan fired the decisive shot. Nobody will ever know whether she meant it. She had been tried too high. Doubtless the spirit of bluff was hovering in the sanctuary, playing pranks now with this victim, and now with that. "If you drive Posy out of this house, Joe, I shall go with her. If she never returns to it, I shall never return to it." Quinney wiped his forehead, as he ejaculated: "The pore soul’s gone potty!" Susan continued: "I was ever so happy when we went to live in the Dream Cottage; I have been very unhappy in this big house filled with things which you love more than me." "Unhappy—here? Lordy! You’ll complain of the Better Land when you get there!" James spoke. So far he had kept his powder dry and his head cool. "May I suggest——" "What?" "A compromise, sir. You have always impressed me with the wisdom of doing nothing rashly." "Pity you couldn’t profit by such advice, Mr. Marry-in-Haste." "I’ve been courting Posy for more than three months." "You’ve the rest of your life to regret it." James hesitated, trying to determine the right policy to pursue. Then he said firmly: "There are one or two matters to talk over, sir, before we part company." "Meaning, my lad?" "Matters we had better discuss quietly, and—alone." "Ho! Hear that, Susan? He’s not quite in such a hurry to take the young lady without her stockin’s. Very good! You pop off to bed, my girl. Susan, you go with her. I’ll see you later." Posy glanced at James, who nodded. "Good-night, Jim!" "Good-night, my darling!" "Tchah!" muttered Quinney. For the third time in his life the remembrance of the Channel crossing vividly presented itself. He felt deadly sick! *II*