She urged strenuously. "She’s very worthy! She gives all her old clothes to charity. And Sarah says she’s very just, and she’d make your wages go a very long way. Sarah says that’s a great thing." He began to chuckle, but checked it in his distress at having to disappoint her. She came down at last to a humble, "Well, will you please just take her for a walk _now_?" She returned, chastened and severe, to the Stronghold. A visit a few minutes later, from Miss Kezia herself, lent an added intensity to the small figure that flung itself desperately at Mr. Mark Yovil, who called to leave some book for Denis. "Take her away! Walk out with her! She’s a wet counterpane on us!" Mark Yovil, known for his obstinacy, his firm will, was weak where this Atom was concerned. "I’m going to a lecture," he declared hesitatingly. "Take her!" "But, my dear, it’s nothing that would interest her. She would not come—" "Oh, _please_! ’Magine us—up there—all quiet and still like dead mice! And our letter-day! It—it’s really very sad!" He looked down into her upturned face, into the wild entreaty of her great eyes. Miss Kezia came into the hall and greeted him, surprised. He turned to her, and asked her if she would be so very kind—his sister had lost her cook quite suddenly—not very experienced—advice— Miss Kezia presently had gone upstairs to don her bonnet, her one weakness, love of giving advice, enveloping her in a cloud of complacency. "Now, small Sheila Pat, am I not a true friend? But, mark this, I have told no falsehoods." He took her on his knee. "My sister has lost her cook. She is inexperienced. She does want advice," he twinkled there; "I don’t know that it’s the advice of your estimable aunt that she particularly requires, but we’ll hope so. Your aunt once whacked my sister’s baby on the back when it had swallowed a spoon or fork or knife or something of the kind. Perhaps it was the soup-tureen. Well, now, I shall have to leave your aunt in one room while I explain to my sister. You’ll have to love me for ever for this, Sheila Pat." A little later, and noise echoed with joyful abandon through the house. When Ted bade them good night, he said hesitatingly:— "I say, Nell—er—" "Say on!" she encouraged him. "You don’t think—I mean—well, you won’t get thinking—er—will you?" "Oh, Ted, why? Have you noticed any grey hairs yet?" She put up her hands to her hair. He smiled. "I mean—you know—" "By Jove, if she does know, they didn’t divide the supply of brains between us equally," Denis observed. "I only mean that I don’t want you to—to get thinking that—you know you said before that I looked as if I were thinking of something nice for you—well, you won’t think I was, will you?" "Oh, indeed, I will now! Denis, can’t you see there’s a secret somewhere? Oh, how lovely! Ted, I do love secrets. Is it something _very_ nice?" He looked into her teasing face with an expression of almost ludicrous dismay.