They were not surprised that Elsie was late as they neither of them knew how long oratorios lasted; but they were frightened when they saw that Miss Strickland was alone. Mrs. Andrews exclaimed at once, “Where’s Elsie? Has she been run over?” and Mr. Andrews said, “Nonsense, Mother! Of course not. Where _is_ the child, Miss Strickland? We hold you responsible you know! We hold you _strictly_ responsible!” “I don’t know,” said Onoria firmly. She took an armchair and faced the questioning parents with her usual deliberate self-assurance. “That is what I came to ask you.” “But surely—” Mr. and Mrs. Andrews began together. “Surely you took Elsie to the oratorio?—she said, didn’t she, she was going this afternoon over to Mellingham?” “I was,” said Miss Strickland, “at the oratorio in Mellingham this afternoon, and so was Elsie, but she was not with me.” “Well I never!” said Mr. Andrews. “Fancy her going off like that all by herself! It’s certainly time she was back. Girls are so independent nowadays.” “She was _not_ alone,” Miss Strickland said significantly. Mr. Andrews leaned forward, “Who was she with?” he asked truculently. “She was with Peter Gubbins,” said Miss Strickland, leaning back in her chair. If she had intended to create a sensation she had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams; but the incredible part of it was the type of sensation she had created. She had expected shame, indignation and alarm. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews were quite obviously pleased. Once more Onoria was confronted by the inexplicable nature of parents. They did not wish to show their satisfaction too plainly, but the tone in which Elsie’s mother said, “Well I never!” was one of flattered maternal pride, and Mr. Andrews, when he had drawn a long breath, exclaimed, “I never would have thought it!” in much the way in which he would have greeted a smart trick of the trade. “You can never tell with the quiet kind,” Mrs. Andrews continued reminiscently. “I was like that myself as a girl, I never went out of my way to attract anybody, and as to mentioning it at home—well—I’d have been ashamed! I just let things take their course as it were—and here I am! Dear me!” “Shouldn’t you say Peter Gubbins was a warm man?” enquired Mr. Andrews, ignoring this revelation of his wife’s tactics. “I’ve always understood he had a tidy little sum put by.” “I couldn’t possibly tell you,” said Miss Strickland, who had, during this outburst of vulgarity, recovered her secret poise. “To tell the truth, the idea of Elsie’s having arrived at any notion of matrimony had not occurred to me. I merely thought that it was unfortunate she should appear in public unchaperoned with a man who is old enough to be her father, but who is not her father.” “Oh, well, you know,” said Mr. Andrews, “young people will be young people, won’t they Mother? And we all know Peter Gubbins about here. Peter Gubbins is as safe as the Bank of England. I don’t call fifty old for a man.”