"I can hardly think she'd be a party to anything of that sort," rejoined Wagram. "She seemed to me a nice sort of a girl; too nice, in fact, to lend herself to that kind of thing." The Squire's head shot up quickly, and for a moment he looked at his son with grave concern. The two were alone together now. "Don't you know lovely woman better than that even by this time, Wagram?" he said. "Well, I ought to," was the answer, beneath the tone of which lurked a bitterness of rancour, such as seldom indeed escaped this man, normally so equable and self-possessed with regard to the things, so tolerant and considerate towards the persons, about him. "I should say so," assented the Squire; "and I'll bet you five guineas your acquaintance with this one doesn't end where it begun." "I don't see how it can. If it hadn't been for her I should almost certainly have lost my life." "If it hadn't been for her your life would not have been in danger, so the situation is even all round." Wagram laughed. "There's something in that, father. But you say these are absolutely impossible people?" "Absolutely and entirely--dangerous as well. Didn't I tell you just now about one of them and Vance's eldest idiot? Why, for all we know, it may have been your heroine of to-day." "It may, of course. Still I have an instinct that it was probably one of the others. Wouldn't it be the right thing if I were to call and inquire after the girl, make sure she's none the worse for her spill. It would be only civil, you know." "Civil but risky. If you did that it wouldn't be long before Calmour and some of them returned it. They'd jump at the opportunity. A Calmour at Hilversea! Phew! It would be about as much in place as a cow in a church." "That makes it awkward certainly." "Doesn't it? Besides, I don't see that what you suggest is in the least necessary. The girl on your own showing, wasn't hurt. Her bicycle got smashed, and we are sending her a new one, probably ten times as good as the one she had before. Moreover we've lost one of our African antelopes. Upon my word I think the house of Calmour is far more indebted to us than we are to it. Just shut that window, Wagram. It's beginning to get a little chilly." The sweet, distilling air of meadow and closing flower greeted Wagram's nostrils as he lingered while obeying, and from the gloaming woodlands came the weird, musical hooting of owls, and again he felt that intense, ecstatic thrill of possession sweep through his being. And as he turned from the window, he heard the Squire repeat, this time half to himself: "A Calmour at Hilversea! Pho!" CHAPTER FOUR. SIEGE HOUSE AND ITS WAYS. "Oh, what a perfect beauty! Look, Bob. Free wheel, Bowden brakes, everything."