"I think so ... at least I didn't say to ask him to come," confessed Ishmael, who had the worst head in the world for a message. "Here they are," announced Killigrew; "I think there're only four of them ..." He screwed up his eyes to gaze, for he was short-sighted. Ishmael gave a glance. "There's five ..." he said apologetically; "I'm afraid he's there. I can see Polkinghorne and Carminow and Polkinghorne minor and Moss minor and--yes, it's Doughty. I hope you don't mind fearfully, Hilaria?" She threw a queer little look at him. "It's not for me," she said slowly; "it's only that I don't think he likes you, Ishmael. He tried to tell me something funny about you the other day. He comes to papa for extra coaching in French, you know, and I had to give him tea...." "About me--?" Ishmael stared blankly, then, more from some premonition than anything else, grew slowly and burningly red. The colour ebbed away, leaving him pale. "What was it?" he asked. "Nothing. At least, I honestly don't know what. Papa shut him up. He said to him he was no gentleman to say such things before a _jeune fille_--" She broke off, feeling she had hardly improved matters. A deadly suspicion that had once before knocked on Ishmael's heart and been refused more than a second's glance for sheer incredibility pounded at him again, making the blood sing in his ears. Nothing heard at school or from the Parson--who had long perturbed himself as to the right moment for explanations--had started those first warning notes, but words freely bandied across his head at home as a little boy, and then meaningless to him--words that had since echoed back on to fuller knowledge ominously. If it had not been that Archelaus, the free-speaker and the vindictive One of the family, was still in Australia, and that Ishmael spent a large part of his holidays with friends of the Parson's in Devon and Somerset, the conspiracy of secrecy, wise or unwise, could not have lasted so long. He stared at Hilaria and his fingers dug into the turf at either side of him. At that moment Killigrew relieved the tension by jumping up and calling a wild, long-drawn "Hullo-o" to the approaching boys. They came running up the slope and flung themselves down in a circle, while Polkinghorne major, a big, jolly, simple-minded boy, one of the best liked in the school, laid audacious hands on the bag, which Hilaria snatched from him with a shriek.