"Shall we have another turn on the Grounds before the Doctor’s car——" Sherbrand was beginning, when the Chief removed the Wireless head-band and came forward. "Miss Saxham, I must detain you for a minute, I am afraid." Sherbrand went out of the hut. At a sign the pale clerk evaporated. Sir Roland moved nearer to Patrine. How old he looked! she thought. "You are done up! _Esquinté_, aren’t you?’ "I am tired, but neither done up nor the other thing. Miss Saxham, you just now put me in possession of the details of a Suffragist plot. The friend of a friend of yours, backed by some other viragoes of the militant order, intends—I quote your own words!—to a bid for a diet of skilly, and prison-yard exercise, by interrupting the after-dinner speakers at the Mansion House Banquet on Monday night. Kindly let her know from me that the stewards will be prepared to prevent her doing so,—and tell her that women will never make successful conspirators until they learn to hold their tongues! Now, good-night. Your incautiousness has rendered Miss Helvellyn a service. She will bless it one day if she doesn’t now." He took Patrine’s hand in his frank, strong clasp. The haggard lines on the keen bronzed face did not mar the beauty of its kindliness. "You have given her a chance. Let’s hope she makes the most of it. To herd with the—wild she-asses isn’t the way to serve her sex. Rowdiness and shrieking will never get the Vote for Women. Burning down empty country-houses won’t land a female Member in the House of Parliament. It isn’t Propaganda to—behave like an improper goose. Mind you tell her! That you, Saxham?" as a tall figure came towards them out of the glimmering darkness fitfully splashed by the petrol-flares now burnt down and dying out. "Best take your niece home to Harley Street, she is thoroughly tired. Sherbrand and myself and Mr. Burgin here are good for hours yet." *CHAPTER XLII* *SAXHAM BREAKS THE NEWS* "Owen! ..." Lynette was dressed in a delicate, filmy black chiffon dinner-gown, and as Saxham’s latch-key clicked in the front door-lock and she rose up out of the tail carved armchair that stood beside the large hall fireplace, her paleness seemed to diffuse light, like the whiteness of the moon. "Owen ... He is not ... What ..." Her wide bright glance went past the tall wrapped-up figure of Patrine to the taller shape that bulked behind her. No small active boy-form danced in its wake. She put out her arms, groping blindly—swayed and would have fallen, but that Saxham strode past Patrine, caught the slender figure in his powerful embrace, turned and carried his wife away down the short corridor that led to the consulting-room. "Miss Pat, my dear! There’s cold supper all laid an’ ready waitin’ in the dining-room. By the Doctor’s special orders, and I was to see you eat."