"Yes, indeed," he answered, and then a picture crossed his mind of evening after evening, and Hermia yawning, and reiterating how intensely bored to death she was. What on earth was it that made retrospect so utterly distasteful to him now? He would have given all he possessed to be able to blot that episode out of his life altogether. Hermia the chances were as five hundred to one he would never set eyes on again-- and if he did, she was powerless to injure him; for she had not the slightest legal hold upon him whatever. But the episode was there, a black, unsavoury, detestable fact, and it there was no getting round. "Now, sonny, it's time for you to turn in," said Bayfield. "By George, I'll have to think seriously about sending that nipper to school," he added, as the boy, having said good-night, went out of the room. "But hang it, what'll we do without the chappie? He's the only one left. But he ought to learn more than Lyn can teach him now." "Father, you _are_ mean," laughed the girl. "Reflecting on my careful tuition that way. Isn't he, Mr Blachland?" "I wonder how it would be," pursued Bayfield, "to make some arrangement with Earle and send him over there four or five days a week to be coached by that new English teacher they've got." "Who is he?" said Blachland. "A Varsity man?" "'Tisn't `he.' It's a she," returned the other, with a very meaning laugh. "A regular high-flyer too. Mrs Earle isn't so fond of her as she might be, but I expect that young Britisher has put Earle's nose out of joint in that quarter. They say she's a first-rate coach, though." "Now, father, you're not to start talking scandal," said Lyn. "I don't believe there's any harm in Mrs Fenham at all. And she isn't even pretty." "Ho-ho! Who's talking scandal now?" laughed her father. "Taking away another woman's personal appearance, eh, Lyn? By the way, there are several round there you won't get to agree with you on that head." "Oh, she's married, then?" said Blachland, though as a matter of fact the subject did not interest him in the least. "Has been," returned Bayfield. "She's a widow--a young widow, and with all due deference to Lyn's opinion, rather a fetching one. Now, isn't that a whole code of danger-signals in itself? Get out some grog, little girl," he added, "and then I suppose you'll want to be turning in." "Yes, it's time I did," replied Lyn, as she dived into a sideboard in fulfilment of the last request. "Good night, Mr Blachland. Good night, old father. Now, you're not to sit filling up Mr Blachland with all sorts of gossip. Do you hear?" "All right," with a wink over at his guest. "Good night, my little one."