"You're losing your temper." As a fact he was. He grabbed at Queen, but she easily escaped him. He saw the whiteness of her skirt in the distance of the roof, dimly rising. She was climbing the ladder up the side of the chimney. She stood on the top of the chimney, and laughed again. A gun sounded. G.J. said no more. Using his flash-lamp he found his way to the ladder-shaft and descended. He was in the warm and sheltered interior of the house; he was in another and a saner world. Robin was at the foot of the ladder; she blinked under his lamp. "I've had enough of that," he said, and followed her to the illuminated boudoir, where after a certain hesitation she left him. Alone in the boudoir he felt himself to be a very shamed and futile person, and he was still extremely angry. The next moment Concepcion entered the boudoir. "Ah!" he murmured, curiously appeased. "You're quite right," said Concepcion simply. He said: "Can you give me any reason, Con, why we should make a present of ourselves to the Hun?" Concepcion repeated: "You're quite right." "Is she coming?" Concepcion made a negative sign. "She doesn't know what fear is, Queen doesn't." "She doesn't know what sense is. She ought to be whipped, and if I got hold of her I'd whip her." "She'd like nothing better," said Concepcion. G.J. removed his overcoat and sat down. Chapter 34 IN THE BOUDOIR "We aren't so desperately safe even here," said G.J., firmly pursuing the moral triumph which Concepcion's very surprising and comforting descent from the roof had given him. "Don't go to extremes," she answered. "No, I won't." He thought of the valetry in the cellars, and the impossible humiliation of joining them; and added: "I merely state." Then, after a moment of silence: "By the way, was it only _her_ idea that I should come along, or did the command come from both of you?" The suspicion of some dark, feminine conspiracy revisited him. "It was Queen's idea." "Oh! Well, I don't quite understand the psychology of it." "Surely that's plain." "It isn't in the least plain." Concepcion loosed and dropped her cloak, and, not even glancing at G.J., went to the fire and teased it with the poker. Bending down, with one hand on the graphic and didactic mantelpiece, and staring into the fire, she said: "Queen's in love with you, of course." The words were a genuine shock to his sarcastic and rather embittered and bullying mood. Was he to believe them? The vibrant, uttering voice was convincing enough. Was he to show the conventional incredulity proper to such an occasion? Or was he to be natural, brutally natural? He was drawn first to one course and then to the other, and finally spoke at random, by instinct: "What have I been doing to deserve this?"