She was there in the living-room--she and the frump. And when I saw her dear face and realized what disaster had come between us, I felt things whirling around me like a jolly what's-its-name and dropped my hand on a chair-back hard, until I could stiffen and smile up. But, by Jove, she was on! "Is anything the matter, Mr. Lightnut?" she asked, coming toward me--and how kindly, almost tenderly, her sweet face softened! "Is it anything about Jacky?" snapped the frump. I shook my head and just gently placed the little wrapped parcel in Frances' hands. My hand shook so I almost dropped it. "Some--something of yours that was lost," I said, and I knew my voice shook a little, too. "I was fortunate in recovering it." I looked at her--for the last time, I knew--and it was just my devilish luck that she got misty and dim. I whispered hoarsely: "Open when you are alone." And then I walked straight out of the house! A gardener directed me to the park gates, but there were so many dashed curves and terraces I got hopelessly twisted, and pretty soon didn't know whether I was leaving or coming, don't you know. I sat down on an iron bench to think it over, and, by Jove, I must have dozed off, for the first thing I knew some one yelled my name, and I looked up to see--Billings! He was looking a bit soiled and disheveled, and his eyes had a hunted look. "What the devil are you doing, sitting here?" he demanded. "I--I'm going," I said, hurriedly getting to my feet. "Just resting--I--" "They told me I would find you here," he said. "Here you are, sitting out here in the hot sun without any hat! Good thing, Dicky, you haven't got any--h'm!" Then he panted at me: "Say, nice way you and my sister treated me--I don't _think_! But I'll forgive you this time." Here he linked his arm in mine. "I'll forgive you, if you never say anything at the club about those damned black pajamas--nor in the family, either. Great Scott! I wouldn't have this get out!" "I wouldn't think of such a thing!" I exclaimed, immeasurably relieved, but indignant, as well. He led me across the turf. "Oh, I've had an awful time, Dicky! Awful!"--he lifted his hands--"Oh, I don't want to tell you about it--I don't want even to think about it myself!" I murmured something sympathetic, for I _felt_ sympathetic with anything; besides, there still lingered a bit of headache from the Heidelberg punch and I could imagine from that what _his_ feelings must have been. "By George, Dicky," he burst out again, "the way I've been shut up and treated just seems like some infernal conspiracy. Good thing Jack Ellsworth's dad had a pull with the mayor--tell you all the whole rotten business when I can talk about it quietly." "That's right! that's right!" I said soothingly, "wouldn't think about it at all now, old chap!" No use reminding him, you know, that he had shut _himself_ up. Besides, the wandering of the mind to Jack Ellsworth and his father showed me that even yet he was not quite himself.