Myra rose, hastily. "I must go in," she said. "But play as long as you like." Billy walked beside her towards the shrubbery. "May I come in and see you, presently, dear Queen? There is something I want to say." "Come when you will, Billy-boy," said Lady Ingleby, with a smile. "You will find me in my sitting-room." And Billy looked furtively at Ronald, hoping he had not seen. Words and smile undoubtedly partook of the maternal! * * * * * It was a very grave-faced young man who, half an hour later, appeared in Lady Ingleby's sitting-room, closing the door carefully behind him. Lady Ingleby knew at once that he had come on some matter which, at all events to himself, appeared of paramount importance. Billy's days of youthful escapades were over. This must be something more serious. She rose from her davenport and came to the sofa. "Sit down, Billy," she said, indicating an armchair opposite--Lord Ingleby's chair, and little Peter's. Both had now left it empty. Billy filled it readily, unconscious of its associations. "Rippin' flowers," remarked Billy, looking round the room. "Yes," said Lady Ingleby. She devoutly hoped Billy was not going to propose. "Jolly room," said Billy; "at least, I always think so." "Yes," said Lady Ingleby. "So do I." Billy's eyes, roaming anxiously around for fresh inspiration, lighted on the portrait over the mantelpiece. He started and paled. Then he knew his hour had come. There must be no more beating about the bush. Billy was a soldier, and a brave one. He had led a charge once, running up a hill ahead of his men, in face of a perfect hail of bullets. First came Billy; then the battalion. Not a man could keep within fifty yards of him. They always said afterwards that Billy came through that charge alive, because he sprinted so fast, that no bullets could touch him. He rushed at the subject now, with the same headlong courage. "Lady Ingleby," he said, "there is something Ronnie and I both think you ought to know." "Is there, Billy?" said Myra. "Then suppose you tell it me." "We have sworn not to tell," continued Billy; "but I don't care a damn--I mean a pin--for an oath, if _your_ happiness is at stake." "You must not break an oath, Billy, even for my sake," said Myra, gently. "Well, you see--_if you wished it_, you were to be the one exception." Suddenly Lady Ingleby understood. "Oh, Billy!" she said. "Does Ronald wish me to be told?" This gave Billy a pang. So Ronnie really counted after all, and would walk in--over the broken hearts of Billy and another--in rôle of manly comforter. It was hard; but, loyally, Billy made answer. "Yes; Ronnie says it is only right; and I think so too. I've come to do it, if you will let me." Lady Ingleby sat, with clasped hands, considering. After all, what did it matter? What did anything matter, compared to the trouble with Jim?