"Margaret could not come herself, on account of poor Tibby, so I am here
to represent her and to have a good talk."

"I'm sorry to be so dense," said the young man, again drawing up outside
a shop. "But I still haven't quite understood."

"Helen, Mr. Wilcox--my niece and you."

He pushed up his goggles and gazed at her, absolutely bewildered. Horror
smote her to the heart, for even she began to suspect that they were at
cross-purposes, and that she had commenced her mission by some hideous
blunder.

"Miss Schlegel and myself?" he asked, compressing his lips.

"I trust there has been no misunderstanding," quavered Mrs. Munt. "Her
letter certainly read that way."

"What way?"

"That you and she--" She paused, then drooped her eyelids.

"I think I catch your meaning," he said stickily. "What an extraordinary
mistake!"

"Then you didn't the least--" she stammered, getting blood-red in the
face, and wishing she had never been born.

"Scarcely, as I am already engaged to another lady." There was a
moment's silence, and then he caught his breath and exploded with, "Oh,
good God! Don't tell me it 's some silliness of Paul's."

"But you are Paul."

"I'm not."

"Then why did you say so at the station?"

"I said nothing of the sort."

"I beg your pardon, you did."

"I beg your pardon, I did not. My name is Charles."

"Younger" may mean son as opposed to father, or second brother as
opposed to first. There is much to be said for either view, and later on
they said it. But they had other questions before them now.

"Do you mean to tell me that Paul--"

But she did not like his voice. He sounded as if he was talking to a
porter, and, certain that he had deceived her at the station, she too
grew angry.

"Do you mean to tell me that Paul and your niece--"

Mrs. Munt--such is human nature--determined that she would champion the
lovers. She was not going to be bullied by a severe young man. "Yes,
they care for one another very much indeed," she said. "I dare say they
will tell you about it by-and-by. We heard this morning."

And Charles clenched his fist and cried, "The idiot, the idiot, the
little fool!"

Mrs. Munt tried to divest herself of her rugs. "If that is your
attitude, Mr. Wilcox, I prefer to walk."

"I beg you will do no such thing. I take you up this moment to the
house. Let me tell you the thing's impossible, and must be stopped."

Mrs. Munt did not often lose her temper, and when she did it