No thought of the agony Squire was enduring came into her mind. She was angry, excited, possessed by a spirit of malicious mischief. A bend in the road enabled her to look back: there was no other vehicle in sight. She pushed open the trap door above her head, told the driver that she had forgotten something, and bade him drive to the studio. Then she opened the lamp that was behind her, blew out the light, and then huddled as closely as possible into the corner nearest that side of the road along which Squire would most likely come. She looked eagerly, and soon passed him, walking slowly, bent and bowed. When she reached the studio Maddison was there. “What’s up?” he said. “You rush in, I hear, have an interview with a mysterious stranger, rush away and rush back again. But give me a kiss before you answer. Now, sit on my knee and ’fess.” “George, my husband’s been here.” “The devil!” “The devil would have been easier to manage; he doesn’t want to save souls.” She then told him most but not all of what had taken place. “It _is_ awkward. Do you think he’ll come again?” “Sure to, that’s the trouble. Nothing I can say—or you—will stop him. You don’t know what he is. We’re safe for to-night, so you needn’t worry about that, but what can we do? There mustn’t be a row, for your sake. Hullo! there’s somebody, and not a thing ready.” “All the better—all the more like a picnic. It’s Fred. Come along, we appoint you chef. Marian shall be kitchen maid. I’ll lay the table.” CHAPTER XI MADDISON was not surprised at a visit from Squire early the next morning; and if not armed he was at any rate forewarned. He offered him a chair and a cigarette, both of which were curtly refused. “As you will,” Maddison said, seemingly careless and supercilious, but in reality closely watching his opponent’s face. “I hope you will not mind my both sitting and smoking; both are conducive to comfort, and what’s life without comfort?” “It will be better,” Squire said, shuffling awkwardly, “to talk simply and without any remarks which are likely to be offensive. You know why I’ve come?” “Unless you tell me I shall never know. This visit seems as useless as it is unpleasant. I can’t think what you have to say which wouldn’t be better unsaid.” “No, I suppose you cannot. I suppose we look at almost everything from a different standpoint. I’ve come to say——” “You are presuming, Mr. Squire, that I am willing to listen to you.” “Naturally. You allowed your servant to show me in.” “I beg your pardon, you’re _quite_ right. But I do wish you’d sit down; it makes me feel so awkward to see you standing up.” “I saw Marian last night,” Squire said, taking no notice of Maddison’s remark; “I suppose she told you.”