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She did not contradict him. She did not even answer him. She was sobbing as in passionate despair.

And it was that moment which Fisher chose for poking his head into the smoking-room in search of Charlie, whom he expected to find dozing over the fire, ignorant of the fact that it was close upon dinner-time.

Charlie leapt round at the opening of the door, but Fisher had taken stock of the situation. He entered with that in his face which the boy had never seen there before–a look that it was impossible to ignore.

Charlie met Fisher half-way across the room.

“Come into the billiard-room!” he said hurriedly.

He seized Fisher’s arms with muscular fingers.

“Not here,” he whispered urgently. “She is tired–upset. There is nothing really the matter.”

But Fisher resisted the impulsive grip.

“I will talk to you presently,” he said. “You clear out!”

He pushed past Charlie and went straight to the girl. His jaw was set with a determination that would have astonished most of his friends.

“What is it, Molly?” he said, halting close beside her. “What is wrong, child?”

But Molly could not tell him. She turned towards him indeed, laying an imploring hand on his arm; but she kept her face hidden and uttered no word.

It was Charlie who plunged recklessly into the opening breach–plunged with a wholesale gallantry, regardless of everything but the moment’s emergency.

“It’s my doing, Fisher,” he declared, his voice shaking a little. “I’ve been making an ass of myself. It was, partly your fault, too–yours and Bertie’s. Let her go! I’ll explain.”

He was excited and he spoke quickly, but his eyes were very steady.

“Molly,” he said, “you go upstairs! You’ve got to dress, you know, and you’ll be late. I’ll make it all right. Don’t you worry yourself!”

Molly lifted a perfectly white face and looked at Fisher. She met his eyes, struggled with herself a moment, then with quivering lips turned slowly away. He did not try to stop her. He realised that Charlie must be disposed of before he attempted to extract an explanation from her.

Charlie sprang to the door, shut it hastily after her, and turned the key.

“Now!” he said, and, wheeling, marched straight back to Fisher and halted before him. “You want an explanation. You shall have one. You gave my show away this afternoon. You made her imagine that in taking me for an ordinary–or perhaps I should say a rather extraordinary–fool she had done me an injustice. She came in her sweetness and told me she was sorry. And I–forgot myself, and said things that made her cry. That is the whole matter.”

“What did you say to her?” demanded Fisher.

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“You shall tell me!” said Fisher.

He took a step forward, all the hidden force in him risen to the surface.

Charlie faced him for a second with his head flung defiantly back, then, as Fisher laid a powerful hand on his shoulder, he stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled a little.

“No, old chap,” he said. “I’ll apologise to you, if you like. But you haven’t any right to ask for more.”

“I have a right to know why what you said upset her,” Fisher said.

Charlie shook his head.

“Not the smallest,” he said. “But I should have thought your imagination might have accomplished that much. Surely you needn’t grudge the tears of pity a woman wastes over a man she has had to disappoint?”

He spoke with his eyes on Fisher’s face. He was not afraid of Fisher, yet his look of relief was unmistakable as the hand on his shoulder relaxed.

“You care for her, then?” Fisher said.

Charlie flung impetuously away from him.

“Oh, need we discuss the thing any further?” he said. “I’m on the wrong side of the hedge, and that’s enough. I hope you won’t say any more to her about it. You will only distress her.”

He walked to the end of the room and came slowly back to Fisher, whose eyes were sternly fixed upon him. He thrust out his hand impulsively.