"I will send a letter over to-morrow morning. Is your car waiting?" They moved across the lawn together, not speaking a word. Lady Coryston entered the car. Enid Glenwilliam made her a low bow, almost a curtsey, which the elder lady acknowledged; and the car started. Enid came back to the summer-house, sat down by the table, and buried her face in her hands. After a little while a hurried step was heard approaching the summer-house. She looked up and saw her father. The Chancellor's burly form filled up the door of the little house. His dark, gipsy face looked down with amusement upon his daughter. "Well, Enid, how did you get through? Did she trample on you--did she scratch and spit? I wager she got as good as she gave? Why, what's the matter, my girl? Are you upset?" Enid got up, struggling for composure. "I--I behaved like a perfect fiend." "Did you?" The Chancellor's laughter filled the summer-house. "The old harridan! At last somebody has told her the truth. The idea of her breaking in upon you here!--to threaten you, I suppose, with all sorts of pains and penalties, if you married her precious son. You gave her what for. Why, Enid, what's the matter--don't be a fool, my dear! You don't regret him?" "No." He put his arm tenderly round her, and she leaned against him. Suddenly she drew herself up and kissed him. "I shall never marry, father. It's you and I, isn't it, against the world?" "Half the world," said Glenwilliam, laughing. "There's a jolly big half on our side, my dear, and lots of good fellows in it for you to marry." He looked at her with proud affection. She shook her head, slipped her hand in his, and they walked back to the house together. CHAPTER XIV