What was meant by this could only be judged by subsequent events. One cannot but surmise that it meant the following: To come to that office on Monday and, as usual, to treat her as part of the office furniture. To speak to her as usual with the charm of manner of a bear with a sore head. To glower at her as usual in the Strand if she passed him with young Ellerton. To have lunch on Friday as usual at that restaurant where she had lunch and, still as usual, to spar and wrangle with her until it was time to get back to work. To meet her as usual at Mrs. Cartwright's; to meet her perhaps with her friend Mrs. Awdas; to----well, to carry on in the usual way, as he had done up to now, and so, indefinitely, to continue.... "Yes! I've done with her," he meditated aloud in the solitude of whatever place it was in which he found himself. The sound of his own voice pronouncing these resolute words was balm to his irritated, exasperated mood. "I've done with her. _That's_ sett----" Into the word there broke the shrill whirring call of the telephone. He snapped it up. The silence of the place where he sat seemed to ring to the now irritated bark of his voice, answering. "Spikkin'! Who is that?" "Ell--what? Oh, Ellerton? Yes; what is it?" He listened, scowling, to the clear boyish voice that came through, obviously in the joyous high feather. "Oh, yes; I know the raid's over, yes.... Nothing of consequence; nothing at all.... You saw _what_? Miss Howel-Jones home safely? That's all?... You were held up? Is that so? Where? For _how_----For two hours, was it? All the lights turned out, I suppose?... Indid.... Ah.... Well! I don't know that I was worrying specially about either of you; not so as you'd notice it. But thanks all the same for reassuring me, Ellerton----" (This with the bitter sarcasm which, the Celt maintains, is ever lost upon the Saxon.) "And I suppose Miss Howel-Jones will make it her excuse for turrrning up late on Monday morrrrning.... _Whatt?_ She won't be coming Monday? How's that?... _Leave?_" His voice jumped up three notes. "Going on leave?... Where's she going? Wales?... What part of Wales?... I said what part of Wales.... Aber-_which_?... Ah.... 'Night." The finest judge of women snapped up the receiver and sat for a moment motionless: only the shapely feminine mouth under the hogged moustache moving to the form of inaudible words. Then he sprung up and grabbed a paper-covered book from a shelf of reference books. He stood holding it. Ellerton and she! Held up for two mortal hours in the dark! And the cub sounded in racing spirits.... Proposed to her! Not a doubt of it! And would he sound like that if he hadn't been acc----? Here he slammed the book down on the table (it was an A B C), and, with his one hand, began violently fluttering the pages. Aber----Aber---- Gone, had she? Without a word.... How dare she? Got leave without telling him.... Leave, indeed.... He'd got some leave coming to him.