She supposed she was awake now, but somehow a curious air of unreality enveiled whatever it was that was happening. She looked at the cover of the "Life" in her hand. The most execrable of woodcuts could hardly disguise what she saw. Traditionally posed, nude above the waist, and clad below only in tights and fighting-shoes--formidably watchful, lightly poised for the blow--in appearance at any rate he was a man and superb. But really he had been cruel, faithless, divorced. As if she had passed merely from one state of half-wakefulness to another, she did not think of the bomb she was about to drop among the girls. She only wanted to look, and to look, and to look again at this man, who was her father. "Isn't it just Causton's mouth and chin?" she barely heard Burnett Minor bubbling. "But I can't say she has Uncle Buck's beezer----" Slowly Louie handed the "Life and Battles" back. At any rate she had now seen him, if only in a wretched woodcut. She looked quietly about her. "That's my father," she said, perhaps a shade distinctly and loudly. Then she looked about her again. Burnett Minor jumped down from her chair. Her eyes shone flattery on Louie. The very audacity of such a lie compelled her admiration. "O-o-oh--_what_ a whopper!" she cried. Louie turned her eyes to Burnett Minor. "You said uncle. You weren't quite right. That's my father," she said again. Burnett Minor's life was full of miracles. A miracle more or less made no difference. Her eyes sparkled. She alone of the girls believed. "Not really?" she gasped. Louie nodded. "Qu'est c'qu'elle dit?" Pigou cried excitedly, somewhere at the back. "Pooh, she didn't--she only nodded--nodding isn't a lie," a casuist scoffed. "Stupid, don't you see she's joking?" But Burnett Minor was watching Louie--only to be quite sure. "Honour?" she cried. "Spit your death?" "Honour." "How splen-_diferous_! And you never told us!" But Burnett Major had already looked at her sister. She was shocked into using her Christian name. "_Genista!_" she reproved her. "Let me look again," said Louie. She looked again at the man who had been cruel, faithless, divorced. Again she handed the "Life" back. "He keeps a public-house up the river," she said. At that the tension was suddenly relieved. That, of course, was too much. They breathed freely again. The derisive clamour broke out. "Oh, don't you see? They've made it up between them--frauds!" "Of course they have! Come and finish tea." "She'll be saying that was the man who brought her down next!" "Causton, I'll never, never believe another word you say!" "Come on--the housekeeper will be here in a minute." "Pig, you've stolen my piece of cake that I was saving!" "Hurl the bread and butter, Mac." And the crowd which had gathered about Louie dispersed to the tables again.