When she was alone, Sylvia tried to put her emotions in order, without success. She had wished for excitement, but, now that it had arrived, she wished it had kept away from her. She was not so much shocked by the revelation of what her father and Monkley had done (though she resented their cowardly treatment of Maudie), as frightened by what might ultimately happen to her in their company. They might at any moment find themselves in prison, and if she were to be let out before the others, what would she do? She would be utterly alone and would starve; or, what seemed more likely, they would be arrested and she would remain in Lillie Road, waiting for news and perhaps compelled to earn her living by working for Mrs. Meares. At all costs she must be kept informed of what was going on. If her father tried to shut her out of his confidence, she would appeal to Monkley. Her meditation was interrupted by Monkley himself. "So you're a little girl," he said, suddenly. "Fancy that." "What if I am?" challenged Sylvia, who saw no hope of successfully denying the accusation. "Oh, I don't know," Monkley murmured. "It's more fun, that's all. But, look here, girl or boy, don't let me ever have any more heroics from you. D'ye hear? Or, by God! I'll--" Sylvia felt that the only way of dealing with Monkley was to stand up to him from the first. "Oh, shut up!" she broke in. "You can't frighten me. Next time, perhaps you'll tell me beforehand what you're going to do, and then I'll see if I'll let you do it." He began to laugh. "You've got some pluck." "Why?" "Why, to cheek me like that." "I'm not Maudie, you see," Sylvia pointed out. Presently a spasm of self-consciousness made her long to be once more in petticoats, and, grabbing wildly at her flying boyhood, she said how much she wanted to have adventures. Monkley promised she should have as many as she liked, and bade her farewell, saying that he was going to join her father in a saloon bar round the corner. Sylvia volunteered to accompany him, and after a momentary hesitation he agreed to take her. On the stairs they overtook the baron, very much dressed up, who, in answer to an inquiry from Monkley, informed them that he was going to lunch with the Emperor of Byzantium. "Give my love to the Empress," Monkley laughed. "It's-s nothing to laugh at," the baron said, severely. "He lives in West Kensington." "Next door to the Pope, I suppose," Monkley went on. "You never will be serious, but I'll take you there one afternoon, if you don't believe me." The baron continued on his way down-stairs with a kind of mincing dignity, and Mrs. Meares came out of her bedroom. "Isn't it nice for the dear baron?" she purred. "He's received some of his money from Berlin, and at last he can go and look up his old friends. He's lunching with the Emperor to-day." "I hope he won't drop his crown in the soup," Monkley said.