Doubt paled before it. “Oh, you heavenly thing!” Mrs. Gracedew after an instant, sustained by this appreciation, went a step further. “And I’ll make him _say_ he does!” Cora closed her eyes with the dream of it. “Oh, if I could only hear him!” Her benefactress had at last run it to earth. “It will be enough if _I_ do.” Cora quickly considered; then, with prompt accommodation, gave the comfortable measure of her faith. “Yes--I think it will.” She was quite ready to retire. “I’ll give you time.” “Thank you,” said Mrs. Gracedew; “but before you give me time give me something better.” This pulled the girl up a little, as if in parting with her secret she had parted with her all. “Something better?” “If I help you, you know,” Mrs. Gracedew explained, “you must help me.” “But how?” “By a clear assurance.” The charming woman’s fine face now gave the real example of clearness. “That if Captain Yule should propose to you, you would unconditionally refuse him.” Cora flushed with the surprise of its being only that. “With my dying breath!” Mrs. Gracedew scanned her robust vitality. “Will you make it even a promise?” The girl looked about her in solid certainty. “Do you want me to sign----?” Mrs. Gracedew was quick. “No, don’t sign!” Yet Cora was so ready to oblige. “Then what shall I do?” Mrs. Gracedew turned away, but after a few vague steps faced her again. “Kiss me.” Cora flew to her arms, and the compact had scarce been sealed before the younger of the parties was already at the passage to the front. “We meet of course at the station.” Mrs. Gracedew thought. “If all goes well. But where shall you be meanwhile?” Her confederate had no need to think. “Can’t you guess?” The bang of the house-door, the next minute, so helped the answer to the riddle as fairly to force it, when she found herself alone, from her lips. “At that funny old grotto? Well,” she sighed, “I _like_ funny old grottos!” She found herself alone, however, only for a minute; Mr. Prodmore’s formidable presence had darkened the door from the court. VII “My daughter’s not here?” he demanded from the threshold. “Your daughter’s not here.” She had rapidly got under arms. “But it’s a convenience to me, Mr. Prodmore, that _you_ are, for I’ve something very particular to ask you.” Her interlocutor crossed straight to the morning-room. “I shall be delighted to answer your question, but I must first put my hand on Miss Prodmore.” This hand the next instant stayed itself on the latch, and he appealed to the amiable visitor. “Unless indeed she’s occupied in there with Captain Yule?” The amiable visitor met the appeal. “I don’t think she’s occupied--anywhere--with Captain Yule.” Mr. Prodmore came straight away from the door. “Then where the deuce _is_ Captain Yule?”