Nevertheless half an hour ago, in spite of everything, Laura would have said very decidedly, “No,” and proceeded with her plan of escape. Now the whole situation was altered by Mr. Priestley’s utter generosity. To throw the gift he was trying to make back in his face would, in one sense, be the act of a complete rotter. After all, as she had had occasion to remind herself before, she had asked for everything and it was only poetic justice that she should get it. As things were, she owed Mr. Priestley all the reparation she could give him. But nevertheless, modern though she considered herself, there were limits even to such reparation, and was not to compromise herself hopelessly and for ever quite decidedly one of them? Oh, Lord, she didn’t know _what_ to do! “All right,” Laura heard her own voice saying, “I agree. I give you my solemn word.” She listened to it with astonishment. So far as she knew, she had not arrived at any decision at all; apparently she had been wrong. The words seemed to have come out of her mouth without any volition on her part at all. Laura was grateful to her mouth; at any rate it had solved this very awkward problem for her. Mr. Priestley replied fittingly. “And I know what I’ll do,” Laura went on, speaking this time of her own free will. “I’ll adopt you as an uncle. That’ll make everything all right, won’t it?” The British mind, it has been said, loves a compromise. Mr. Priestley looked slightly disappointed. He did not feel at all avuncular. Twenty minutes later Laura, having obtained leave of absence for half an hour, was in Piccadilly, a smile on her lips and laughter in her heart. Now that the die actually was cast, she was prepared to enjoy the situation to its fullest extent. And anyhow, Duffley really was deadly dull. She entered the Piccadilly Palace and made a bee-line for the telephone room. Their own house at Duffley was not on the telephone, and she gave the Nesbitt’s number. A quarter of an hour later she got it. “Yes?” said Cynthia’s voice very wearily. “What is it?” “Is that you, Cynthia darling? Lawks speaking.” “Oh!” Cynthia’s voice brightened considerably. “I thought it was another wretched reporter. They’ve been buzzing round here like flies all the afternoon, and the telephone’s been going continuously. Lawks, what have you been doing, my dear?” “Hush! Telephones have ears, you know, besides the ones at each end. I’ll tell you all about everything when I see you. My dear, I’ve had a perfectly hectic time. I—no, not now. Cynthia, will you take a message across for me to Dawks?” “Yes. What is it?”