"Because Lily isn't that sort. She wouldn't stand it." This reply not unnaturally angered the cook. "And do you mean to say I stand it? I can't help it. I'm so horribly small, but if I could, I'd kill you, Randolph, and as it is, I hate you for doing it, hate you more than you have any idea." "You know very well it's your own fault. You tempted me." "How could I know about your silly lack of self-control?" "You've always pretended to like me." "Just what I did--pretended. But I'll never have to pretend again, thank heaven. I don't really like you and I never did--not since we were children." "You'll be sorry for saying that, when you're calmer." "I may be sorry for saying it, but I'll think it as long as I live." "I pity the man who marries you, my girl. You've a bitter tongue." "You'd marry me to-morrow, if you could." "I would not." "You would." "Not if you were the last woman in the world." [Illustration: _Scene from the Play_ PAUL DAINGERFIELD SUBMITS TO INSPECTION. _Act I_] "Good night." "Good-by." The culprit seized his hat and rushed away through the shadows before Tucker had time to think out the dignified rebuke that he had intended. There was a pause. He was conscious that an opportunity had slipped from him. He knew now what he ought to have said. He should have asked the young fellow--who was clearly a gentleman, far above Jane-Ellen in social position--whether that was the way he would have treated a girl in his own mother's drawing-room, and whether he considered that less chivalry was due to a working girl than to a woman of leisure. Though his great opportunity was gone, he decided to do whatever remained. After a short hesitation he descended a flight of steps at one end of the piazza. The kitchen opened before him, large and cavernous. Two lamps hardly served to light it. It was red tiled; round its walls hung large, bright, copper saucepans, and on shelves of oak along its sides were rows of dark blue and white plates and dishes. Tucker was prepared to find the cook in tears, in which case he had a perfectly definite idea as to what to do; but the disconcerting young woman was moving rapidly about the kitchen, humming to herself. She held a small but steaming saucepan in her hand, which was, as Tucker swiftly reflected, a much better weapon than the handle of an ice-cream freezer. "Good evening, Jane-Ellen," he said graciously. "Good evening, sir." She did not even look in his direction, but bent witch-like over a cauldron. "I wished to speak to you," he said, "about that little incident of this morning. You must not think that I am by nature cruel or indifferent to animals. On the contrary, I am a life member in the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to them. I love animals." And as if to prove his words, he put out his hand and gently pulled the ears of Willoughby, who was asleep in a chair. Cats' ears are extraordinarily sensitive, and Willoughby woke up and withdrew his head with a jerk.