He had got precisely as far as the drawing-room door, when a voice reached his ears from the upper story. “Mrs. Ilam! Mrs. Ilam! He’s eaten his ham and eggs. What about the marmalade?” Carpentaria dashed into the hall and looked up the stairs, and he saw the head of Juliette over the banisters. Behind him he heard a suppressed sigh from Mrs. Ilam. CHAPTER IX--The Dead Dog Carpentaria ran up the stairs. If he had not had flame-coloured hair, and the fiery temper that goes with it, he would probably have pursued the more dignified course of calling Juliette down and interrogating her in privacy. But he was Carpentaria. She knew his moods, and she fled before him into a sitting-room, where Ilam, a dressing-gown covering his suit of Sunday black, reclined in an easy-chair by the side of a small table bearing an empty plate and a knife and fork. She cowered down on the floor. “Oh, Carlos!” she exclaimed under her breath. Carpentaria made the obvious demand: “What are you doing in this house, Juliette?” There was a silence. “Look here, Carpentaria,” Ilam began, rising a little in a chair. “Silence!” cried Carpentaria angrily and threateningly. And at the noise the great dog Neptune, pride of the Ilams, emerged from behind the chair and growled. Juliette said at last: “Mrs. Ilam told me that Jos--that Mr. Ilam was unwell, and so I--I came to see how he was. That’s all.” “Really!” said Carpentaria. “Is that all? Your philanthropic interest in the sick and suffering, my girl, does you great credit. But as the invalid seems to be doing fairly well you’d better come home with me. I want to talk to you.” Juliette gave a look of appeal to Ilam. “I must tell him,” she whispered. “I must tell Carlos. Why did you want me to keep it a secret? Carlos, Mr. Ilam and I are engaged to be married. We love each other. We only want your consent, and Jos was afraid you mightn’t give it. He was afraid. We’ve been engaged three days now, haven’t we, Jos?” “My consent!” Carpentaria shouted bitterly. “My consent!” His wrath was dreadful, and yet to a certain extent he was controlling himself. “I suppose,” he addressed Juliette, “it’s your love for this estimable gentleman that leads you out into the gardens of a night, and I suppose you take beautiful romantic moonlight strolls together. My consent! Ye gods!” The dog continued to growl. Juliette gathered herself together, and moved to Ilam’s chair, and Ilam took her hand protectively. “My poor dear! Never mind!” murmured Ilam soothingly. Genuine affection spoke in those tones uttered by the stout and otherwise grotesque Mr. Ilam. Love itself unmistakably appeared in the attitude of the pair as they clasped hands in front of Carpentaria’s fury. And Carpentaria could not but be struck by what he saw. It sobered him, puzzled him, diverted his thoughts. “Come, Juliette,” he said in a quieter, more persuasive tone.