st character in London or you may be wanted by the police. I don't
know. And I don't care. It doesn't matter to me. You mean nothing in my
life. I don't know you."

"You must persevere," said Sam. "You must buckle to and get to know me.
Don't give the thing up in this half-hearted way. Everything has to have
a beginning. Stick to it, and in a week or two you will find yourself
knowing me quite well."

"I don't want to know you!"

"You say that now, but wait!"

"And thank goodness I have not got to!" exploded Mr. Bennett, ceasing to
be calm and reasonable with a suddenness which affected Sam much as
though half a pound of gunpowder had been touched off under his chair.
"For the little I have seen of you has been quite enough! Kindly
understand that my daughter is engaged to be married to another man, and
that I do not wish to see or hear anything of you again! I shall try to
forget your very existence, and I shall see to it that Wilhelmina does
the same! You're an impudent scoundrel, sir! An impudent scoundrel! I
don't like you! I don't wish to see you again! If you were the last man
in the world I wouldn't allow my daughter to marry you! If that is
quite clear, I will wish you good morning!"

Mr. Bennett thundered out of the room, and Sam, temporarily stunned by
the outburst, remained where he was, gaping. A few minutes later life
began to return to his palsied limbs. It occurred to him that Mr.
Bennett had forgotten to kiss him good-bye, and he went into the outer
office to tell him so. But the outer office was empty. Sam stood for a
moment in thought, then he returned to the inner office, and, picking up
a time-table, began to look out trains to the village of Windlehurst in
Hampshire, the nearest station to his aunt Adeline's charming old-world
house, Windles.

CHAPTER XV

DRAMA AT A COUNTRY HOUSE

As I read over the last few chapters of this narrative, I see that I
have been giving the reader rather too jumpy a time. To almost a painful
degree I have excited his pity and terror; and, though that is what
Aristotle says one ought to do, I feel that a little respite would not
be out of order. The reader can stand having his emotions tortured up to
a certain point; after that he wants to take it easy for a bit. It is
with pleasure, therefore, that I turn now to depict a quiet, peaceful
scene in domestic life. It won't last long--three minutes, perhaps, by a
good stop-watch--but that is not my fault. My