"So am I," chimed in Cannington, pushing back his chair. "One at a time, boy. Mabel, you come along with me to The Lodge and we shall see Gertrude. Then you can give me your opinion on my extremely good taste. As to Cannington, he had better look up Dicky in his yard." "I'd rather come and see Gertrude--I mean Miss Monk." "No. To-morrow you shall be presented. Go and talk to Dicky like a Dutch uncle--he deserves it--while Mabel and I call on Gertrude." Cannington nodded, although I could see that he was not very well pleased with the arrangement. On the way out of the inn he tugged at my sleeve while Mabel was speaking to Mrs. Gilfin. "I say, have you learned anything more about the Mootley business?" "Not lately," I replied in low tones. "I'll tell you all I know when we have more time. Go and see Dicky. By the way," I caught his sleeve this time, "have you heard anything of Marr?" "Not a word. Why?" He stared wonderingly. "Oh, nothing. Never mind." "Mabel," I turned to the girl, "I am at your service." Cannington shrugged his square shoulders and the three of us walked to The Lodge. Weston's yard was farther on, quite beyond the village, so I directed Cannington to go straight on, telling him that he could not miss the workshop. Then I took Mabel inside the grounds of The Lodge and up to the door. Eliza opened the door and conducted us to the drawing-room. While she went to inform her young mistress of our arrival, Mabel glanced round admiringly. "What a charming old room!" she said delightedly; "it must have been built by William the Conqueror: all except the horrid windows." "They are rather out of place," I admitted; "some Vandal of a Monk, put them there during the Albert period, when everything was ugly." "I shall get Dicky to give me a room like this--without the French windows, of course," chatted Mabel. "Oh! then you intend to marry him." "Certainly not. I intend to box his ears if he has the cheek to speak to me again. The idea!" "What shall I give you for a wedding present, Mabel?" I asked, laughing. "Dicky's head on a charger," she replied promptly. "In that case there would be no wedding. Come, Mabel, you know you love Weston and intend to marry him." "Well, I do, on one condition." "What is that?" "He must burn or smash his horrid airship before my very eyes." "Well," said I, thoughtfully and with intent, "he loves you so much that I believe he'll even do that." "Oh, Cyrus, would he"--her eyes sparkled--"does he really love me?" "Desperately. He's been miserable since you refused him." "Oh, poor Dicky--" she began, but got no further, for Gertrude entered as the words left her lips and came forward with a smile. "Lady Mabel," she said, holding out her hand, "I have no need to ask your name, as Cyrus has described you to me so often."