For no obvious reason, except that it was a horrid day, somehow, and horrid things seemed to come naturally into one’s mind, Nell fell to worrying over Denis and his ideas on the lottery question. He often teased her on the subject, declaring that though he had not gone in for any more just yet, he was working it all out in his mind, and would be a millionnaire some day, in spite of her. "Oh, K.K., let’s go out! Cats are too much for me! So are studies to-day." A quiver tingled all along that sedate little black back. Nell laughed. "Very well, we’ll go without her, won’t we, Sheila Pat? We’ll go for a walk—a _walk_! Good-bye, Kate Kearney!" It was too much for her dignity or her sulks. With a frenzied howl she hurled herself on them. "Nell," Sheila Pat looked thoughtful, "don’t you think it would be perlite to ask that little boy next door to come with us? But I won’t walk beside him," she added hastily. The breach had been healed between them, to a certain extent. Stewart had responded suitably to her letter that she was "sorry," but the Atom was still cautious; the Catechism and cricket question loomed always before her. She planted herself between Nell and Molly, and walked along with a certain aloofness that kept him in his place. He laughed and talked with Nell, and the Atom listened. In her rigidly honest soul she confessed that he did not sound like a goody-goo, but there was always that question of the cricket and the Catechism. He came in with them and had tea. Denis did not appear. Nell found herself making an effort to laugh and talk. It took her back, with a little shiver, to those bad last days at Kilbrannan. Stewart avoided the Atom’s serious eyes shyly; he seemed much more at his ease with Nell and Molly. When he was going, Sheila Pat went down with him into the hall. Nell went, too, and Molly. But Sheila Pat slipped out on to the doorstep, and accosted him in an earnest whisper. "Are you _sure_ you’d sooner learn your Catchykism than play cricket?" "Yes," he said with an obstinate jerk to his small chin. Sheila Pat followed the others back to the Stronghold in silence. Sarah came up presently with a slip of paper in her hand. "For you, miss," she said to Nell. Nell opened it wonderingly. "Don’t know what time I’ll be in, old girl. Haven’t a moment to write. On the way to be a millionnaire. Tell you when I see you. Awful spree. Don’t let on to anyone. "Denis." It was scrawled in pencil, evidently in a frantic hurry. "What is it?" Molly inquired. "Only a note from Denis—to say he’ll be late." Nell spoke slowly. She twisted the paper in her hands with a feverishness, a restlessness oddly in contrast with her slow speech. She turned and went downstairs to the kitchen. "Sarah, who brought that note just now?" "A boy, miss." "What sort of boy?" "A urchin, miss, up to no good, I should say." Nell wandered aimlessly to the dresser and played with a plate.