and things. I rather think there are some suits
of mine that might do. I wish you'd look them out."

"I beg your pardon, sir?

"This is Mr. Frank Guiseley--of Merefield.... It is, really! But we
don't want more people talking than are necessary. You understand?
Please don't say anything about it, except that he's come on a
walking-tour. And please tell the housekeeper to get the Blue Room
ready, and let somebody turn on the hot water in the bath-room until
further notice. That's all, Jackson ... and the clothes. You
understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"And get the _eau de lubin_ from my dressing-room and put it in the
bath-room. Oh, yes; and the wooden bowl of soap."

"These clothes of mine are not to be thrown away, please, Jackson,"
said Frank gravely from the chair. "I shall want them again."

"Yes, sir."

"That's all, then," said Jack.

Mr. Jackson turned stiffly and left the room.

"It's all right," said Jack. "You remember old Jackson. He won't say a
word. Lucky no one saw us as we came up."

"It doesn't matter much, does it?" said Frank.

There was a pause.

"I say, Frank, when will you tell me--"

"I'll answer any questions after dinner to-night. I simply can't talk
now."

Dinner was a little difficult that night.

Mrs. Kirkby had been subjected to a long lecture from her son during the
half hour in which she ought to have been dressing, in order to have it
firmly implanted in her mind that Frank--whom she had known from a
boy--was simply and solely in the middle of a walking-tour all by
himself. She understood the situation perfectly in a minute and a
half--(she was a very shrewd woman who did not say much)--but Jack was
not content. He hovered about her room, fingering photographs and
silver-handled brushes, explaining over and over again how important it
was that Frank should be made to feel at his case, and that Fanny and
Jill--(who were just old enough to come to dinner in white high-necked
frocks that came down to their very slender ankles, and thick pig-tails
down their backs)--must not be allowed to bother him. Mrs. Kirkby said,
"Yes, I understand," about a hundred and thirty times, and glanced at
the clock. She stood with one finger on the electric button for at least
five minutes before venturing to ring for her maid, and it was only that
lady's discreet tap at one minute before eight that finally got Jack out
of the room. He looked in on Frank in the middle of his dressing, found
to his re