“Mr. Tuke,” he said over his shoulder, “I stake my reputation on the man’s honesty, and I say you are treating him vilely and inhumanly. I shall have the honour of sendin’ a friend to you.” The other bowed grimly, and was advancing to show his visitor out, when both gentlemen were aware of an apparition in the doorway, standing white and rebukeful, with clasped hands. “Fie, Angel!” cried the baronet. “You’ve been listening.” Whether to cover her confusion at the charge, or to top the situation appropriately, Miss Angela at this flung herself down into the room and on to her brother’s breast. “Davy, Davy!” she cried in an anguished voice, “you’re not going to fight?” And he answered fretfully: “Get up! You’re squashin’ my shirt-frill.” Mr. Tuke came forward gallantly. The girl had stepped back with an air of frightened indecision. With one hand she adjusted a tumbled curl; the other she held out as if for an examination by Love the doctor. Her knight assumed the _rôle_, and, bending, kissed the little active pulse. “You have been day-dreaming,” he said. “Your brother and I are great friends.” She looked up at him chidingly. “Mr. Tuke!” she implored. Then said she: “If you are great friends, take one another’s hands.” The two glanced each at each comically; but neither moved. “There!” she cried. “Is it for you to deceive a woman? You were going to fight; and what about?” “Not you, my dear,” said Sir David. “Fie!” she said, blushing. “’Tis never gentlewomen that set gallants by the ears. I would take it no _honour_, brother, to call yours in question.” The two had nothing to say. “I demand to know!” she cried imperiously, stamping her foot. “Madam,” stuttered Mr. Tuke--“it--it merely turns on a difference of opinion.” She courtesied to him very prettily. “The lion and the bear,” she said, “were e’en glad to lie down and take breath; when by comes a fox and seizes the prey they were too exhausted to dispute him the possession of. Doth the difference of opinion turn on one imprisoned hard by? Here enters the fox, good gentlemen, and offers herself an arbitrator.” She stepped up to the master of the house and held out her palm. “It is like a little cradle for a cupid,” he said. “Nonsense, sir. I want the key of your dungeon. Have I not earned it?” He laughed. “There is none,” he said; “but a bolt in the floor.” “May I shoot it back?” “’Twould bruise your little fingers wofully.” “But I have a heel, sir--that can kick against the pricks, I must add; or my gentle brother will say it for me.” Mr. Tuke spoke more seriously. “Well,” said he, “I leave the issue in your hands. I am loth to release the fellow. He hath conspired against me, I think and believe, and hath no more than his deserts. But, after all, it is a little thing if it please you; and I will not even hold you responsible for his safe custody.”