“No,” said Cynthia, not without regret. “I tried to persuade him to (it would have been _so_ good for all of them), but he said that was really going too far. So he’s going to take them up to the middle of Harpenfield Woods and—leave them there!” “You heartless woman!” “Oh, they’ll be all right,” said the heartless woman serenely. “It’s only twelve miles. Of course they won’t be able to get the handcuffs off, because the key’s here. But then, they never arranged for a key for poor Mr. Priestley at all. I expect them home in plenty of time for dinner.” “Well!” said Dora, giggling in spite of all decent feeling at the idea of her brother, her fiancé, and her best friend’s husband walking along the lanes hand in hand. “I don’t think you’ll be very popular for a time, Cyntie dearest. And what about Laura?” “Laura,” said Cynthia, “I’m leaving entirely to Mr. Priestley. As at present arranged, they’re going to be married at ten o’clock to-morrow morning.” “_What?_” shrieked Dora, and then more explanations had to be unfolded. “Oh, well,” Dora said resignedly at the end of them, “I suppose we all deserved it. Is it any use apologising to you, Mr. Priestley, or would you take it as one more insult?” “There’s no need, Miss Howard, I assure you. Pat was quite right: I did want waking up. I realise that now.” “I’m sure you’re very wide-awake at present, certainly,” observed Miss Howard crisply. “And you got me all the way down from town to let me be handcuffed for two minutes, Cinders?” “Oh, no, dear. That’s only part of your punishment. You’ve got the worst bit to come. I’m going to take you down to the Fosters now, to eat as big a slice of humble pie as you can manage. It’s about your visit to Mr. Foster’s tool-shed on Monday. You’ve got to come and tell Mrs. Foster that you’re not her husband’s—— Oh, well,” said Cynthia airily, “I can tell you all that on the way.” “That I’m not _what_?” asked Dora, mystified. “Yes, dear. Soon. But——” “Cyntie, I think you’re the absolute _limit_!” said a voice from the door. “I don’t mind telling you I’ve been listening and heard the lot. You really are the outside edge.” “My dear Monica,” Cynthia said in surprise, “why?” “Well,” said her indignant sister, “you know perfectly well the whole thing was Guy and Pat’s fault. Why drag George into it? He had nothing to do with it. He told me he hated the whole thing, and wouldn’t have gone in for it at all if Guy hadn’t made him.” “Oh, did he?” Cynthia said sweetly. “Oh!” She gazed at the flushed face of her sister with a good deal more interest than these simple words appeared to warrant. Perhaps Monica felt this too, for she turned a deeper colour and then marched with dignity from the room. Dora looked at Cynthia and vulgarly winked. “Do you think so?” she asked cryptically. “I’m sure of it,” said Cynthia, with complete conviction. “Good!” said Dora; and to Mr. Priestley’s astonishment they kissed warmly.