There was a scrambling sound outside the door. The handle turned. “Hullo! Back already?” said Eustace, opening his eyes. The next moment he opened them wider. His mouth gaped slowly like a hole in a sliding cliff. Mrs. Horace Hignett was standing at his bedside. § 3 In the moment which elapsed before either of the two could calm their agitated brains to speech, Eustace became aware, as never before, of the truth of that well-known line—“Peace, perfect peace, with loved ones far away.” There was certainly little hope of peace with loved ones in his bedroom. Dully, he realised that in a few minutes Jane Hubbard would be returning with her book, but his imagination refused to envisage the scene which would then occur. “Eustace!” Mrs. Hignett gasped, hand on heart. “Eustace!” For the first time Mrs. Hignett seemed to become aware that it was a changed face that confronted hers. “Good gracious! How stout you’ve grown!” “It’s mumps.” “Mumps!” “Yes, I’ve got mumps.” Mrs. Hignett’s mind was too fully occupied with other matters to allow her to dwell on this subject. “Eustace, there are men in the house!” This fact was just what Eustace had been wondering how to break to her. “I know,” he said uneasily. “You know!” Mrs. Hignett stared. “Did you hear them?” “Hear them?” said Eustace, puzzled. “The drawing-room window was left open, and there are two burglars in the hall!” “Oh, I say, no! That’s rather rotten!” said Eustace. “I saw them and heard them! I—oh!” Mrs. Hignett’s sentence trailed off into a suppressed shriek, as the door opened and Jane Hubbard came in. Jane Hubbard was a girl who by nature and training was well adapted to bear shocks. Her guiding motto in life was that helpful line of Horace—_Aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem_. (For the benefit of those who have not, like myself, enjoyed an expensive classical education,—memento—Take my tip—servare—preserve—aequam—an unruffled—mentem—mind—rebus in arduis—in every crisis). She had only been out of the room a few minutes, and in that brief period a middle-aged lady of commanding aspect had apparently come up through a trap. It would have been enough to upset most girls, but Jane Hubbard bore it calmly. All through her vivid life her bedroom had been a sort of cosy corner for murderers, alligators, tarantulas, scorpions, and every variety of snake, so she accepted the middle-aged lady without comment. “Good evening,” she said placidly. Mrs. Hignett, having rallied from her moment of weakness, glared at the new arrival dumbly. She could not place Jane. From the airy way in which she had strolled into the room, she appeared to be some sort of a nurse; but she wore no nurse’s uniform. “Who are you?” she asked stiffly. “Who are _you?_” asked Jane. “I,” said Mrs. Hignett portentously, “am the owner of this house, and I should be glad to know what you are doing in it. I am Mrs. Horace Hignett.” A charming smile spread itself over Jane’s finely-cut face.