“Not at all,” said Bundle. “I have my pride. Row me to where that young ass is waiting. Somebody’s got to look after him, I suppose. Virginia must have given him the slip. One of these days, inconceivable as it seems, I might want to marry George, so I might as well practise being ‘one of our well known political hostesses.’” Anthony pulled obediently towards the shore. “And what’s to become of me, I should like to know?” he complained. “I refuse to be the unwanted third. Is that the children I see in the distance?” “Yes. Be careful, or they’ll rope you in.” “I’m rather fond of children,” said Anthony. “I might teach them some nice quiet intellectual game.” “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Having relinquished Bundle to the care of her gallant captain, Anthony strolled off to where various shrill cries disturbed the peace of the afternoon. He was received with acclamation. “Are you any good at playing Red Indians?” asked Guggle sternly. “Rather,” said Anthony. “You should hear the noise I make when I’m being scalped. Like this.” He illustrated. “Not so bad,” said Winkle grudgingly. “Now do the scalper’s yell.” Anthony obliged with a blood-curdling noise. In another minute the game of Red Indians was in full swing. About an hour later, Anthony wiped his forehead, and ventured to inquire after Mademoiselle’s _migraine_. He was pleased to hear that that lady had entirely recovered. So popular had he become that he was urgently invited to come and have tea in the schoolroom. “And then you can tell us about the man you saw hung,” urged Guggle. “Did you say you’d got a bit of the rope with you?” asked Winkle. “It’s in my suit-case,” said Anthony solemnly. “You shall each have a piece of it.” Winkle immediately let out a Wild Indian yell of satisfaction. “We’ll have to go and get washed, I suppose,” said Guggle gloomily. “You will come to tea, won’t you? You won’t forget?” Anthony swore solemnly that nothing should prevent his keeping the engagement. Satisfied, the youthful pair beat a retreat towards the house. Anthony stood for a minute looking after them, and, as he did so, he became aware of a man leaving the other side of a little copse of trees and hurrying away across the park. He felt almost sure that it was the same black-bearded stranger he had encountered that morning. Whilst he was hesitating whether to go after him or not the trees just ahead of him were parted and Mr. Hiram Fish stepped out into the open. He stared slightly when he saw Anthony. “A peaceful afternoon, Mr. Fish?” inquired the latter. “I thank you, yes.” Mr. Fish did not look as peaceful as usual, however. His face was flushed, and he was breathing hard as though he had been running. He drew out his watch and consulted it. “I guess,” he said softly, “it’s just about time for your British institution of afternoon tea.” Closing his watch with a snap, Mr. Fish ambled gently away in the direction of the house.