"This is different," he protested in some confusion. "I draw the line at grown-up tomfoolery. It may interest you to know that I was a horse just before you came in. They've all had a ride on my back. This chap here, when I wasn't looking, took those cavalry spurs from the mantelpiece over there and, by Jove! he _did_ get me moving!" The children shrieked with glee. "You poor man!" Mary cried, genuinely troubled over his experiences. "You've had a dreadful time. I'll save you before it grows any worse. Come upstairs, won't you, please? Father is very eager to meet you." "But I've promised to be another horse," he said loyally. "It wasn't a horse," corrected one of the boys. "You have been that. You said you'd be a jackass. None of us ever saw a jackass." "You said you could be a jackass without half trying, Mr. Van Pycke," said the little pink Pembroke. Mr. Van Pycke fled. His charming hostess overtook him in the hall, where, in dire humility, he had paused to wait for her. She was having immense difficulty to keep her face straight and serene. "I--I wonder if the little beggars think I _am_ such an idiot as I seem," was his unhappy lamentation. "They adore you!" she cried. "You have been too splendid for anything. I am so afraid you have been bored by--" "If you don't banish that pathetic droop from the corners of your--your adorable mouth, I'll do something positively desperate," he interrupted, folding' his arms resolutely so that he couldn't, by any chance, do it. She smiled at him, quite confidingly,--greatly to his disappointment, for he had rather hoped for consternation,--and said: "It is banished." Then she started up the stairs. "Come. I'll show you to your room first. You may come into father's room when you have brushed your hair. It looks positively savage." "My room?" he murmured, coming close behind her. "Yes. Don't you expect to dress for dinner, sir?" "Oh, I can't put you to the trouble of--" "You are to stop here--in this house, Mr. Van Pycke. Your room is all ready for you. I was compelled to turn you out in the cold the other night and I was so sorry. Now you are in my own home, you must stay--to make up for the other time. My father expects you to stay." "Over night?" he said unbelievingly. "Unless, of course, you've something else you'd rather do," she said quickly. "Why--why," he stammered, his head swimming with delight, "there's nothing in the world I'd rather do than to stay here. It seems incredible." "There's a train up at eight in the morning," she announced calmly. "You'll be called at six-thirty. Breakfast at seven. Bacon and eggs and popovers. Is that all right?" "There's only one thing lacking," he cried, his heart leaping. They were standing quite close to each other at the head of the stairs. "If our home isn't--" "If you'll promise to come down to breakfast, I'll never get over the joy of this visit," he said.