"All right, thanks; you might, if you don’t mind." He stood looking down on her in obvious trouble. "You will be angry if I tell you not to be naughty to your aunt?" "Oh, no, I won’t. It amuses me, Herr Schmidt." He sighed, and retired to his room. In a few minutes he reappeared, beaming over his spectacles at her. "See, I haf ze sweets. Young laties like ze sweets, hein?" He was carrying a little crumpled paper bag with a few fruit drops in one corner. His simplicity touched her. She took two with a hearty "thank you." "Oh, there he is!" She ran to the door and softly opened it. "Whence this sepulchral—" Denis began cheerfully. "Hush!" He raised his eyebrows. "Bad little boy to be out at eleven o’clock, eh?" he whispered. "Be quiet, chatterbox!" "Goot night," said Herr Schmidt. "Eh?" Denis looked surprised. "I hadn’t seen you." "Herr Schmidt has been keeping me company while I waited for you, Denis." "Has he? I say, are _you_ allowed to be out after half-past ten, Herr Schmidt?" "I haf no one belonging to me to care," he said pathetically. "We’d give him Aunt Kezia," suggested Denis, _sotto voce_. They retired upstairs. "I say, Nell, I’m beastly hungry," he declared. "Greedy, didn’t they give you a good dinner?" "Rather! Lancaster did the thing in style. Old man’s away. Lancaster seems to pretty well boss the show." "Why are you hungry, then?" "Well, I’ve been out since then." He looked at her with twinkling eyes. "Tearing around in a motor makes you hungry, I can tell you!" "A—motor!" He nodded. "Jolly fine one, too. And at this time of night when all the squares are pretty well deserted it is fine." "How many dogs did you run over?" "Dozen or so." "I’d just have thought he’d have a motor!" She couldn’t have sounded more scornful if she had said a wheelbarrow. "Well, can’t you give me something to eat, anyhow?" "The kitchen’s unprotected. Let’s try." Downstairs they crept. "Oh, more bolts!" groaned Nell. In the kitchen Denis stumbled over the coal-box and sent the coal flying. "Oh, Lor’—and I’ve got no matches! _Nell_!" flinging out and catching her as she stumbled forward. She subsided on to the chair she had fallen against. "Don’t make such a row. Nell, there’s a rat or something running up my leg!" "Is—is it a _beetle_, do you think?" "Very likely." "Oh, Denis!" she drew her toes up on to the chair. "Where do people keep matches, Nell?" "I expect they’re locked up!" "_No_! Well, I can’t go to bed on an empty—um—chest." "Sleep on your back, then." "Unfeeling twin! Dash it all, what a beastly hard chimney this is!" "And what a soft head it came in contact with." "You’re helping a lot, aren’t you? Sitting in the seat of the scoffer. Here, come out of that. You’ve got to help!" "Denis! Oh, _do_ be quiet!" He had seized her round the waist. "If you don’t promise to help look for those matches, I’ll roll you into the scullery where the black beetles live!"