Jessie’s grip tightened on her handkerchief. “I won’t go back,” she said, “to have it as I did before. I want a room of my own, what books I need to read, to be free to go out by myself alone, Teaching—” “Anything,” said Mrs. Milton, “anything in reason.” “But will you keep your promise?” said Jessie. “Surely you won’t dictate to your mother!” said Widgery. “My stepmother! I don’t want to dictate. I want definite promises now.” “This is most unreasonable,” said the clergyman. “Very well,” said Jessie, swallowing a sob but with unusual resolution. “Then I won’t go back. My life is being frittered away—” “_Let_ her have her way,” said Widgery. “A room then. All your Men. I’m not to come down and talk away half my days—” “My dear child, if only to save you,” said Mrs. Milton. “If you don’t keep your promise—” “Then I take it the matter is practically concluded,” said the clergyman. “And that you very properly submit to return to your proper home. And now, if I may offer a suggestion, it is that we take tea. Freed of its tannin, nothing, I think, is more refreshing and stimulating.” “There’s a train from Lyndhurst at thirteen minutes to six,” said Widgery, unfolding a time table. “That gives us about half an hour or three-quarters here—if a conveyance is obtainable, that is.” “A gelatine lozenge dropped into the tea cup precipitates the tannin in the form of tannate of gelatine,” said the clergyman to Miss Mergle, in a confidential bray. Jessie stood up, and saw through the window a depressed head and shoulders over the top of the back of a garden seat. She moved towards the door. “While you have tea, mother,” she said, “I must tell Mr. Hoopdriver of our arrangements.” “Don’t you think I—” began the clergyman. “No,” said Jessie, very rudely; “I don’t.” “But, Jessie, haven’t you already—” “You are already breaking the capitulation,” said Jessie. “Will you want the whole half hour?” said Widgery, at the bell. “Every minute,” said Jessie, in the doorway. “He’s behaved very nobly to me.” “There’s tea,” said Widgery. “I’ve had tea.” “He may not have behaved badly,” said the clergyman. “But he’s certainly an astonishingly weak person to let a wrong-headed young girl—” Jessie closed the door into the garden. Meanwhile Mr. Hoopdriver made a sad figure in the sunlight outside. It was over, this wonderful excursion of his, so far as she was concerned, and with the swift blow that separated them, he realised all that those days had done for him. He tried to grasp the bearings of their position. Of course, they would take her away to those social altitudes of hers. She would become an inaccessible young lady again. Would they let him say good-bye to her?