"First Betty--now you! I must indeed be an unwelcome guest in my father's house. Of course, I can't possibly stay now. There's a train from Leyburn at seven o'clock. I can catch it by leaving here at three, but I shan't start unless I go alone." She looked prettier than ever when her brown eyes sparkled with anger, but Armathwaite hardened his heart because of the grim shadow which she could not see but which was hourly becoming more visible to him. "Is Leyburn the station on the other side of the moor?" he asked. "Yes." "Then you will remain here three weary months, Meg." "I don't pretend to understand," she cried wrathfully. "I've paid three months' rent, and here I shall stay if a regiment of girls and a whole army of Percy Whittakers try to eject me. As I am equally resolved not to allow you to cross the moor unaccompanied, you will readily perceive the only logical outcome of your own decision." The brown eyes lost their fire, but acquired another sort of sheen. "What has happened that you should speak so unkindly?" she quavered. "Last night and this morning you--you--didn't order me out. And I don't see why you should drag in Percy Whittaker. I only borrowed his togs." Many times in the history of this gray old world have woman's tears pierced armor and sapped fortresses. This hapless man yielded at once. "Confound it, Miss Ogilvey, I'd keep you here during the remainder of my days if I could arrange matters to my own liking and yours," he blurted out. She recovered her self-possession with amazing readiness. "Now, Bob, you're talking nonsense," she tittered. "Aren't we making mountains out of molehills? I have lots to do, and hate being rushed. I can stay with Mrs. Jackson to-night, and you and I will set out for Leyburn early to-morrow. Then, if you don't care to face the return journey, you shall take train to Nuttonby and drive here. Isn't that a good plan?" "We must adopt it, at any rate," he said grudgingly. "But you promise to remain hidden all day?" "Yes, even that. Now, let's stop squabbling, and eat. Tell me something about India. It must be an awfully jolly place. If I went there, should I be a mem-sahib?" "It is highly probable." "What a funny way to put it! Aren't all English ladies in India mem-sahibs?" "The married ones are. The spinsters are miss-sahibs." She laughed delightedly, and without any sense of awkwardness because of her own blunder. "Naturally they would be. That's rather neat when you come to think of it," she cried. Old jokes are ever new in someone's ears, or no comic paper could live beyond a year. When Betty came in with a gooseberry tart and cream, she heard the two calling each other "Bob" and "Meg," and reported thereon in the kitchen. "It seems to me she's larnt summat (something) i' Cornwall," commented Mrs. Jackson. "And him old enough to be her father!" marveled Betty. "Fiddlesticks! It's the life he's led that's aged him. He's not a day more'n thirty-five."