I'd stolen this
brooch, which he'd taken himself," I panted, through the beatings of my
heart.

"If you didn't kiss him?"

"Yes. And he was going to do lots of other horrid things, too. Tell
Monsieur Charretier--and let my cousins come and find me at the Hotel
Athenee, in Paris, and--"

"He won't do any of them. But there are several things I am going to do
to him. Go away, my child. Run off to the house, as quick as you can."

I gasped. "What are you going to do to him?"

"Don't worry. I shan't hurt him nearly as much as he deserves. I'm only
going to do what the Head must have neglected to do to him at school."

[Illustration: "_Jack's hand, inside Mr. Stokes's beautiful, tall
collar, shook Bertie back and forth till his teeth chattered like
castanets_"]

Bertie had come out into the woods with a neat little stick, which
during part of our conversation he had tucked jauntily under his arm. It
now lay on the ground. I saw Jack glance at it.

"Ah!"--I faltered. "Do--do you think you'd _better_?"

"I know I had. Go, child."

I went.

I had great faith in Jack, faith that he knew what was best for
everyone.

CHAPTER XXXI

Unfortunately I forgot to ask for instructions as to how I should behave
when I came to the hotel. And I had the bursting sun still in my hand.

I thought things over, as well as I could with a pounding pulse for
every square inch in my body.

If I were a rabbit, I could scurry into my hole and "lay low" while
other people fought out their destiny and arranged mine; but being a
girl, tingling with my share of American pluck, and blazing with French
fire, rabbits seemed to me at the instant only worthy of being made into
pie.

Bertie, at this moment, was being made into pie--humble pie; and I don't
doubt that the chauffeur, whom he had consistently tortured (because of
me) would make him eat a large slice of himself when the humble pie was
finished--also because of me. And because it was because of me, I
knocked at the Turnours' sitting-room door with a bold, brave knock, as
if I thought myself their social equal.

They had had tea, and were sitting about, looking graceful in the
expectation of seeing Bertie and his French friend.

It was a disappointment to her ladyship to see only me, and she showed
it with a frown, but Sir Samuel looked up kindly, as usual.

I laid the bursting sun on the table, and told them everything, very
fast, without pausing to take breath, so t