'It'll last just as long as I do like it,' he told her. A bell sounded; they heard the hall door opened and voices in the hall. 'Listen! Let me go! No, you must. It's papa and mamma.' 'Never mind. Stay where you are.' 'What do you mean? Nonsense! I must----!' In genuine alarm Connie wrenched herself away, ran to the door, listened, gave Beaufort a wise nod, and sat down opposite to him. He laughed at her across the table. After a pause a footman came in. 'I was to tell you that Mrs. Fricker has gone straight upstairs, miss. She'd like to see you for a minute in her room when you go up, miss.' 'All right. Say I'll be there in five minutes. Where's papa?' 'Mr. Fricker's gone into the study, miss.' 'We're in luck,' said Beaufort, when the door was closed. 'I must go in a minute or two. I expect mamma doesn't like me being here with you. It's not my fault. I didn't know you were coming. I didn't let you in.' 'Of course it's not your fault. We'll tell mamma so.' 'I think you'd better go,' suggested Connie; he treated Mrs. Fricker with too much flippancy. 'Yes, I will. I'll join your father and have a whisky-and-soda. But say good-night first, Connie.' 'Oh, well, be quick then,' said Connie. Now, as it happened, through an oversight, there was no whisky-and-soda in the study. Mr. Fricker discovered this disconcerting circumstance when he had got into his smoking-jacket and slippers. He swore gently and walked out, his slippers passing noiselessly over the rich carpets of his passages. He opened the door of the dining-room and came in. To his amazement his daughter whirled quickly across his path, almost cannoning into him; and there, whence she came, Beaufort Chance stood, looking foolish and awkward. Connie was flushed and her hair untidy. 'Good evening, Beaufort. I was looking for whisky-and-soda, Connie dear.' A few more remarks were interchanged, but the talk came chiefly from Beaufort, and consisted of explanations why he had not gone before, and how he was just going now. Then he did go, shaking hands with them both, not looking either of them in the face. 'You can find your own way?' Fricker suggested, as he picked a chicken's leg. 'Give me a little more soda, Connie.' She obeyed him, and, when they were alone, came and stood on the opposite side of the table. Fricker ate and drank in undisturbed composure. At last he observed:-- 'I thought your mother wanted you. Hadn't you better go up to her, Connie?' He glanced round at the clock and smiled at his daughter in his thoughtful way. 'Of course you can tell her; but you'll spoil it all, if you do,' Connie burst out. She seemed ready to cry, being sadly put out by her father's premature discovery, and undisguisedly alarmed as to what view might be taken of the matter. 'Spoil it all?' repeated Fricker meditatively. 'All what? Your fun, my dear?' Connie had no alternative but to play her trumps.