“Do you mean to tell me,” demanded Mr. Vyner, looking at him with great significance, “that you forgot?” “No, sir,” said Bassett; “I didn’t—” “That will do,” broke in Mr. Vyner, imperiously. “That will do. You can go.” “But,” said the amazed youth, “how could I tell—” “That—will—do,” said Mr. Vyner, very distinctly. “I don’t want any excuses. You can go at once. And the next time you are told to deliver a message, please don’t forget. Now go.” He rose from his chair and, with a fine show of indignation, thrust the gasping Bassett from the room, and then turned to face the girl. “I am so sorry,” he began. “That stupid boy—you see how stupid he is—” “It doesn’t matter, thank you,” said Joan. “It—it wasn’t very important.” “He doesn’t usually forget things,” murmured Mr. Vyner. “I wish now,” he added, truthfully, “that I had told Mr. Hartley myself.” He held the door open for her, and, still expressing his regret, accompanied her down-stairs to the door. Miss Hartley, somewhat embarrassed, and a prey to suspicions which maidenly modesty forbade her to voice, listened in silence. “Next time you come,” said Mr. Vyner, pausing just outside the door, “I hope—” Something dropped between them, and fell with a little tinkling crash on to the pavement. Mr. Vyner stooped, and, picking up a pair of clumsily fashioned spectacles, looked swiftly up at the office window. “Bassett,” he said, involuntarily. He stood looking at the girl, and trying in vain to think of something to say. Miss Hartley, with somewhat more colour than usual, gave him a little bow and hurried off. CHAPTER V SMILING despite herself as she thought over the events of the afternoon, Joan Hartley walked thoughtfully homeward. Indignation at Mr. Vyner’s presumption was mingled with regret that a young man of undeniably good looks and somewhat engaging manners should stoop to deceit. The fact that people are considered innocent until proved guilty did not concern her. With scarcely any hesitation she summed up against him, the only thing that troubled her being what sentence to inflict, and how to inflict it. She wondered what excuse he could make for such behaviour, and then blushed hotly as she thought of the one he would probably advance. Confused at her own thoughts, she quickened her pace, in happy ignorance of the fact that fifty yards behind her Captain Trimblett and her father, who had witnessed with great surprise her leave-taking of Mr. Vyner, were regulating their pace by hers. “She’s a fine girl,” said the captain, after a silence that had endured long enough to be almost embarrassing. “A fine girl, but—” He broke off, and completed his sentence by a shake of the head. “She must have come for me,” said Hartley, “and he happened to be standing there and told her I had gone.”