but Reggie ever dared to bang the Manor House front
door. In another minute he had come in, and was standing on the
hearth-rug beside Mr Ffolliot, bringing with him a savour of frosty
freshness into the warm, still room.

"I got through sooner than I expected," said Reggie, in his big cheery
voice, "and caught the two twenty-five, so I walked out. I've been to
the stables to tell Heaven he needn't drive in for me after all. O
tea! That's good,--where's Aunt Marjory? By the way, uncle, I owe you
a shilling. A parcel came for me just as I was starting, and there was
a shilling to pay on it. I had no change and was in a tearing hurry,
so I took one I saw lying on your desk--hope it was all right."

There was a little soft thud in the far corner of the room, as Ger fell
forward on his face, worn out by his long watch, and the rapture of
this immense relief.

When things grew clear again the room was full of light and he was
lying in his mother's arms. Reggie was kneeling beside him trying to
force something in a spoon between his lips, something that smelt, so
Ger said, "like a shop in Woolwich" and tasted very queer and hot.

"Lap it up, old chap," whispered Reggie, and Ger wondered why he seemed
to have lost his voice. "There now, that's all right. You'll be as
fit as possible directly," and Reggie scrambled up from his knees and
bolted from the room.

Ger sat up and looked at his father who was standing beside him. The
lamp shone full on the squire's face, and he, too, like Reggie, seemed
to have got a cold in his eyes; but in spite of this peculiarity, there
was that in their expression which told Ger that everything was all
right again, and that in this instance absolution without confession
had been fully and freely granted.

So Ger, from the safe shelter of his mother's arms, explained, "I
couldn't tell more'n one lie because of mother, you know, and I thought
he wanted it for debts or something. Is those sangwidges anchovy or
jam, do you think?"

CHAPTER IX

THE DANCE

Reggie Peel was not quite sure whether he liked Mary with her hair up
or not. The putting up of the hair necessitated a readjustment of his
whole conception of her, and . . . he was very conservative.

With Mary the tom-boy child, with Mary the long-legged flapper and good
chum, he was affectionately at his ease. He had petted and tormented
her by turns, ever since as a boy of ten he had first seen her, a baby
a year