# Paid In Full/Chapter 21

pp. 225–247.

### CHAPTER XXI
#### THE TIGRESS

‘Do you know,’ said Cradock pleasantly, ‘I believe that old man was trying to be rude to me?’
‘What do you want this time?’ asked Mildred, in an utterly expressionless voice.
‘Well, I am killing two birds with one stone. I am deputising for Denny—who is down at my bungalow entertaining a few of my friends, and asks to be excused from taking you on the river—and I want to talk business with you.’
‘And I want to talk business with you!’ replied Mildred, in sudden anger. ‘I’m not going to have my friends robbed. You must pay back those cheques and postal orders that you stole this afternoon.’
Denis Cradock made himself comfortable upon the sofa.
‘My dear Milly,’ he said, ‘fair exchange is no robbery. If there was any unfairness, it was to myself. I collected eighty-seven pounds odd, and I am giving a perfectly good cheque for one hundred pounds in return—or, rather, you are, which makes the transaction even more impeccable.’ He laughed. ‘Now, my dear, I’m all attention. What’s your trouble?’
Mildred took her stand before him, resolutely.
‘This sort of thing can’t go on,’ she said: ‘it’s too shameful. You’ve made me stand sponsor for you; you’ve robbed my friends—’
‘Only of very trifling sums, as yet.’
‘That makes it more shameful. They were such mean little thefts.’
‘But you must be reasonable, Milly. Remember, most of the people here are in very moderate circumstances. If they had more money, I would take it.’
But Mildred was in no mood for persiflage.
‘You’ve pilfered,’ she continued; ‘you’ve cheated; you’ve sponged on every one. You’ve borrowed money which you don’t mean to pay back; you’ve made love to foolish women like Laura Meakin—’
Cradock interrupted her again.
‘In justice to myself, my dear, I must tell you that there are others who do more credit to my taste than dear Laura. There’s a perfect little darling at the dairy farm, beyond—’
‘I think we may take your list of conquests as read. I’ve known you for a good many years now,’ Mildred reminded him. ‘Well, to cut a long story short, you’re living the life of a parasite—partly on me, which I can stand, partly on my friends, which I can’t. But all that is a trifle, compared with the rest.’
‘The rest?’
‘Yes—the human part. You’ve been trying to separate my children from me.’
‘Dear, dear, have I?’
‘Yes, ever since you arrived. You’ve made little headway with Joan—’
Cradock grinned ruefully.
‘You’re right there. I got no change out of Joan. They’re strange, hard creatures, modern daughters.’
‘But’—Mildred’s eyes blazed—‘you’re demoralising Denny. I believe you’re leading him into bad ways. He’s not so frank with me as he used to be. He talked a lot of quite new nonsense to me the other day—about apron strings, and the necessity of a man living his own life and sowing his own wild oats, and all the pernicious rigmarole with which creatures like you try to stimulate immature boys into making a mess of their lives before they have had a chance to find themselves. That’s what you’ve been doing!’
Cradock nodded.
‘In other words,’ he said, ‘I have been keeping my end up.’ He rose lazily, and strolled to the sideboard, in search of sherry. ‘My dear Milly, you know my philosophy of life—my Credo. I believe in Number One. I believe that the fools and the rich were sent into the world for the wise and the poor to live on. I believe in brains. I believe in grasping opportunities as they arise. I believe in fighting with such weapons as Fortune puts into my hands. The best of all weapons is a hostage. Fortune has given me two—my son and my daughter. Can you blame me if I employ them against you? It’s war between us, isn’t it?’
‘To the knife!’ The words came from between Mildred’s closed teeth.
‘Then why,’ inquired Cradock blandly, ‘criticise me for trying to win? You must be consistent, you know.’
But Mildred was consistent enough upon one point.
‘You’re demoralising Denny,’ she repeated doggedly, ‘and I’m going to stop it.’
‘How do you propose to set about it, my dear?’
Mildred’s answer surprised him. She came closer, and looked up earnestly, almost eagerly, into his face.
‘How much will you take to go right away from here?’ she asked.
‘Where on earth to?’
‘New York—Cape Town—anywhere! I would pay you an allowance—a big allowance. You could apply for it personally every month.’ She was speaking a little breathlessly. ‘Denis, I would give you a lot! I could live on very little; and—and once I got the children settled in life, I would send it all—every penny of it. Denis—please!’
Her answer was an enigmatical smile—half mockery, half-genuine admiration.
‘You look amazingly attractive when you plead, Milly—and young! But I have an alternative to propose.’
‘Yes, yes?’ She was willing to snatch at any straw.
‘Of course, it’s a modest proposal, because I can’t afford to push you too hard. If I do, your abnormal maternal instincts will drive you out into the open, and the whole story will become public property. Result, disaster—domestic and social for you, universal and absolute for me! I suppose, if we do get down to bare knuckles, you’ll employ the law to fling me out of this house altogether?’
‘Yes. I lie awake at night now, wondering whether it wouldn’t be wiser to do it, once and for all.’
‘Precisely. But first of all, this offer of yours. Is it quite kind, quite Christian? What is it that you’re asking me to do—me—your husband, and the father of your children? To separate myself for ever from my attractive wife and my attractive son and daughter, and to retire to some remote foreign seaport, to live the life of—what? A remittance man!’
‘Aren’t you a remittance man now?’
‘Oh, dear, no! A remittance man is paid to go abroad and drink himself to death: you are paying me to stay here and keep sober.’
Mildred broke away from him impatiently.
‘For Heaven’s sake, don’t be facetious now!’ she said. ‘What’s your alternative?’
‘This. As you are doubtless aware’—Cradock turned away and surveyed himself complacently in the adjacent mirror—‘I have made quite a hit in this neighbourhood, as an eligible parti. Young persons with shingled hair languish after me. Laura Meakin has as good as laid her heart and gilt-edged securities at my feet. Several more of your friends are consumed by a hopeless passion for me.’ He turned to his wife again. ‘And do you know why they regard that passion as hopeless? Because they have made up their minds, collectively, that you are the lucky one!’
‘Oh!’ Mildred clenched her fists, frantically. The man was incorrigible.
‘Yes. Milly, in our declining years you and I find ourselves the central figures of a romance—a romance manufactured for us by these worthy, sentimental, chuckle-headed neighbours of yours. Isn’t that wonderful? My suggestion is that we do not disappoint them. In other words, let Mildred Cradock take Dale Conway for her second husband, and put the parish out of its misery!’ He laid down his glass, took Mildred by the shoulders, gently enough, and turned her towards him. ‘Mrs. Cradock, will you marry me?’
Mildred met his gaze steadily.
‘Never in the world, my friend!’ she said.
Having failed to carry matters by assault, Denis Cradock sat down, composedly enough, and proceeded to invest the position.
‘Imagine the advantages of such an arrangement,’ he said.
‘They certainly call for some imagination!’
‘We all stand to profit by it. You would profit—’
‘I? Good Heavens!’
‘Yes; it would be a great economy for you. It must be very expensive, having to board me out and run me as a separate show.’
‘It is cheap at the price,’ replied Mildred simply.
‘The children would profit,’ continued Cradock. ‘You object to acknowledge me as their father, because you say it would demoralise them to know that my undesirable blood runs in their veins. Very well. But, if I became their stepfather, that objection is overruled, isn’t it? Besides’—he smiled impudently—‘think how useful you would find me.’
‘Useful?’
‘Yes, as an object lesson. When I was good, you could point me out as a shining example; when, if ever, I was bad, you could employ me as an awful warning.’
Mildred shivered, not altogether from a sense of repulsion. The rogue’s amazing magnetism was beginning to make itself felt: the old fascination was coming back.
‘Please don’t be ridiculous,’ she said.
‘And lastly,’ pursued Cradock, ‘there is my own little point of view. I should profit, too: I admit it, frankly. I should be restored to my position—my rightful position, Mildred!—of husband and father. My children would not know that I was theirs, but I at least would know that they were mine.’ There was the faintest suspicion of a quiver in his voice now. Mildred was quite familiar with that quiver. She stiffened again, promptly.
‘Is that all?’ she asked. ‘Because, if it is, I think you’d better go now.’
Her husband rose suddenly from his chair, and came across the room to her.
‘No, it isn’t all,’ he said. ‘Milly’—again came the little quiver—‘when you married me, you loved me, didn’t you?’
‘Need we go into that?’ she asked stonily.
‘And you love me still, Milly!’ He broke off, and gazed down upon her, holding his breath. He was fighting with his back to the wall now, and both knew it. She looked up into his face, steadily.
‘Twenty years ago,’ she said, ‘I thought there was no man in the world like you. Now, I merely hope so!’
He came a step nearer. ‘That’s not a very direct answer, Milly. Anyhow, you loved me once, and I loved you—and I do still!’ He turned on his heel and walked slowly towards the open window. ‘That’s all. I just wanted you to know.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Denis,’ she said, faintly. He whirled round.
‘It isn’t a lie. It’s the truth—the truth! And you know it!’
Mildred shook her head.
‘No, it’s not. You think it is: I’ll give you credit for that. You’ve a real gift for creating a convincing atmosphere, as many a woman has discovered to her cost; and you tell a tale with such real dramatic instinct that you sometimes end by believing it yourself. You thought you were being quite sincere just now.’
‘I was! I am!’
But Mildred shook her head again—sorrowfully, almost tenderly.
‘No. I have known you for twenty-two years, you see; and it won’t do. If I thought there was any truth in that last statement of yours—one single live spark of truth or sincerity—I might find it in my heart to forgive you everything, and give you another chance. But there isn’t. You’re only acting, Denis. You don’t think you’re acting, but you are. What you said just now was simply an inspiration of the moment. You’ll realise that in five minutes.’
She turned away from him, and walked slowly through the open door to the foot of the staircase. But she had not yet pierced Denis Cradock’s armour—the impenetrable armour of the self-hypnotised. He followed her into the hall.
‘It was the truth, Milly,’ he said doggedly.
‘Believe me, I know better.’
‘It was the truth! I came here purposely to tell it to you. Listen! You say I am a bad egg. Perhaps I am. You say I live by my wits, on my friends. Perhaps I do. You say I have treated you badly. I certainly have. You say I would demoralise my own children. Perhaps I should. You say I am every kind of heartless, cold-blooded, deliberate schemer. Well, I am a lot of things, but I’m not that. I’m human, and I love you, and I believe you love me! Milly, give me a sporting chance! Trust me this once! Take me back! I swear I’ll be a good husband to you. If ever I fail you again, I promise faithfully to walk straight out of this house and out of your life for good and all. Milly, don’t look away—look at me! Look into my face, with the old look! Milly!’
He took her hands, and drew her towards him. She began to shake. She was weakening, and she felt somehow glad. Despite herself, her heart rose. Out in the garden some one was whistling cheerfully. But she would not yield yet.
‘Denis,’ she said, ‘I—I don’t know. You’re so volatile, so impulsive! If only I could be sure!’
Her husband did not reply. He was gazing into her eyes, eagerly, feverishly, like a lover of twenty.
‘It’s coming back!’ he cried exultantly. ‘The look—the old look—it’s coming back! Milly!’
‘Denis!’
She swayed towards him; then suddenly paused, and stepped back. The whistling outside had ceased, for the whistler had entered the room behind them, and now stood framed in the doorway leading into the hall. It was Master Denny Cradock, a little flushed of face and bright of eye.
‘Hallo, Conway, old son!’ he cried hilariously. ‘Your cocktails are the absolute goods—and that little fair girl is a peach! It’ll be a wonderful trip. They’re all outside in the punt now, with Bags. Shall I bring them in? Carried unanimously! Hallo, Mum! I didn’t see you!’
‘Denny,’ said Mildred quickly, ‘I want to speak to you. Don’t go away.’ The tone of her voice brought her mildly exhilarated offspring to his senses at once.
‘All right, Mum. I’ll tell them to buzz off.’
He disappeared, shouting a movement order to the party in the punt, and leaving an uncanny silence behind him. His parents returned heavily into the morning-room.
‘So you were lying again?’ said Mildred.
Cradock shrugged his shoulders, and smiled ruefully.
‘I suppose I was,’ he said; ‘but honestly I didn’t know I was. You swept me off my feet, Milly. I was up in the clouds.’ He pointed an accusing finger, ‘And so were you!’
‘Well, we have come down to earth,’ she replied composedly—‘for good.’
Then she blazed out.
‘What is all this about a trip? What are you plotting to do?’
‘That,’ replied Cradock, quite himself again, ‘is what is known in military circles as an alternative scheme. Having failed in one line of approach, I am now going to try another. In other words, I am reluctantly compelled to apply the screw.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Mildred, in sudden fear.
‘I am going to get to work on one of my hostages.’
‘What are you going to do to him?’
‘Nothing very dreadful. I’m going to take him away on a little pleasure excursion.’
‘Where?’
‘You can ask Denny. But I must point out, Milly, that when, if ever, he comes back, it will be on my terms and not yours. Here he is’—as the hostage under discussion re-entered by the window. ‘Come along, Denny! Come and give me your moral support in the humble petition which I am presenting.’
‘Righto!’ said Denny, a little self-consciously.
‘Denny,’ said Mildred, going straight to him, ‘what is this trip you were speaking of?’
Denny inserted three fingers under his collar, and swallowed.
‘Well, Mother,’ he said, ‘the fact is, I’ve been in training for weeks and weeks—and—er—weeks—’
‘And he stroked his crew to victory this afternoon,’ supplemented Cradock.
‘And now that it’s all over, I—I—was just wondering if it wouldn’t be a good plan to ease up a bit—unbend the old bow, so to speak. And as Captain Conway happens to be going up to town for a few days, and has very kindly offered to take me with him, it seemed to me that it would be a sound scheme to—er—accept. After that, we thought of joining a little party of Captain Conway’s friends on a trip to the Continent. Those old historical places, you know—Paris, and so forth.’ Denny swallowed again, and turned to his prospective host. ‘Aren’t we, old man?’
‘If Mrs. Cradock has no objection,’ said Conway gravely. ‘I was just sounding her on the subject when you came in.’ He turned to Mildred. ‘The idea is this. My old friends, the Moons—’
‘Those people who came to the meeting?’ There was no mistaking Mildred’s alarm now.
‘Mrs. Moon,’ announced Denny stoutly, ‘is an old dear. She will chaperon us.’
‘Chaperon? There will be other ladies, then?’
‘Yes,’ said Cradock—‘two of Mrs. Moon’s nieces. Nice, unaffected girls.’
‘What about it, Mother?’ asked Denny, putting his fate to the touch.
Mildred hesitated, as well she might. There was only one thing to be said: the difficulty was to say it without playing straight into the hands of the enemy.
‘I don’t want to lay down the law, Denny,’ she began slowly, ‘but—’
It was as she feared. Denny fired up at once.
‘Oh, Mother! I can’t be tied to your apron strings all my life!’
‘I would be personally responsible for Denny, Mrs. Cradock,’ said Conway.
This interposition may have been well meant, but it had an unexpected effect. Mildred suddenly lost control of herself. She threw her arms round her son’s neck.
‘Denny,’ she cried, ‘you’re not going with that man!’
‘I say, Mother! Really!’ Every fibre of Denny’s youthful reserve was tingling. ‘Don’t make me look ridiculous! I’m trying hard not to lose my temper; but do think! Think what a fool I feel, being cried over because I’m going on a holiday for a couple of weeks!’
Mildred recovered her poise.
‘I’m sorry, Denny,’ she said; ‘but I’m in a terribly difficult position, and I can ask no one to advise me.’
‘You have a grown-up son,’ Denny pointed out stiffly.
Mildred smiled, despite herself.
‘Bless you!’ she said. ‘But I can’t ask you about this.’
‘May I come in?’ Uncle Tony stood in the window.
‘Of course, dear Uncle Tony,’ said Mildred. ‘Do you want me for anything?’
‘No; emphatically no! If anybody is wanted, it is Captain Conway. I have just encountered two of your friends in the garden, Captain Conway—Mr. and Mrs. Moon.’
‘Are they coming in here?’ asked Conway quickly.
‘Mr. Moon appears anxious to call: Mrs. Moon less so. I understood Mr. Moon—whose speech was unfortunately obscured by a certain thickness of utterance, doubtless temporary—to say that it was his desire to come and say au revoir to his late hostess. Mrs. Moon banned the project, on the grounds, explicitly expressed, that when Moon had had a couple he always mucked things up. I supported Mrs. Moon, and between us we effected—ah—a merciful eclipse of the heavenly body under discussion.’
Uncle Tony discharged this little mot with undisguised satisfaction; but Cradock laughed.
‘Moon’s a funny old fellow,’ he said, ‘and his heart’s a bit dicky. He ought not to be out in this hot sun at all. I’ll go and look after him, presently. Has Denny disclosed to you the little conspiracy, Sir Anthony?’
‘Which of them?’
‘Well, it’s this way. Denny and I have much in common. One of our joint characteristics is a shrinking from monotony. We are both just a little—may I say?—fed up with rural felicity. After all, a backwater is only a backwater.’
‘How true!’ said Uncle Tony politely.
‘And since Denny and I are feeling a trifle stagnant, I have suggested a little excursion.’
‘Where to?’
‘London, certainly; Paris, probably; Deauville, possibly.’
Uncle Tony turned to Denny.
‘What about ways and means, Denny?’
‘Denny will be my guest,’ said Cradock quickly.
‘Denny will not be your guest!’ It was Mildred speaking again, white with anger.
‘Mother! Mother!’ cried Denny, genuinely shocked.
That experienced diplomat, Sir Anthony Fenwick, realised that he was participating in a domestic crisis and that the next move lay with him.
‘May I put my oar in?’ he asked, and continued:
‘Denny, I am not in your mother’s confidence; but I am inclined to think she may have some substantial reason for her objection which she is not at liberty to disclose. Don’t you think we might take her word for it, and endeavour to meet her wishes?’
‘To do so,’ replied poor, pompous Denny, ‘without some sort of explanation or apology would be a direct slight to my friend Captain Conway.’
Sir Anthony smiled grimly.
‘Perhaps your friend stands less in need of an explanation—or an apology—than we imagine,’ he said.
Denny caught the implication.
‘What do you mean, Uncle Tony? What does he mean, Conway?’
‘I have no idea, Denny. But apparently my character is in question: I am not regarded as a suitable companion for innocent youth. You, Denny, are the innocent youth. Very well; I never crowd in where I’m not wanted. Good-afternoon!’
Cradock took up his hat. But Denny, crimson with anger and mortification, started forward.
‘Damn it all, Conway,’ he cried, ‘you shan’t be insulted like this! Do you think I’m going to stay here any longer? Not on your life! I’m coming with you. And’—with a ferocious glare in the direction of his mother and uncle—‘if I can’t be treated decently at home, I won’t come back—there! It’s no good, Mother. Please don’t stand in my way!’
But Mildred stood in his path, with arms outstretched, and a look on her face that Denny had never seen before.
‘Listen!’ she said. Her voice was hard and dry, and her eyes were set. ‘I have something to say, and I must say it. I had hoped and prayed that I might never have to say it; but—I see I must.’ She pointed towards her husband. ‘I’m going to tell you all about that man—’
‘Don’t be a fool, Mildred!’ said Cradock hastily.
Mildred took no notice. A rattling noise was audible outside—the song of the local Ford from the station. But she did not hear it; neither did any one else in the room.
‘My mind’s made up,’ she said. ‘Denny, dear, I told you children that this man was an old friend—a brother-officer of your father’s.’
‘Yes, Mother?’ said Denny, in a startled voice.
‘He’s nothing of the kind.’ Her voice rose, desperately. ‘He’s—’
From the hall outside came the crash of a slammed front door; feet were heard racing towards the morning-room. There was a flash of a white frock and two attenuated black legs, and next moment—flushed, radiant, and mysteriously sent from Heaven—Molly Cradock was hanging round her mother’s neck.
‘Hallo, Mum, darling! I’m home! We’ve got the mumps! Isn’t it lovely? Hallo, Denny, dear! We’ve broken up! We’ve got the mumps!’ By this time she was racing round the room, distributing promiscuous embraces. ‘Uncle Tony, we’ve got the mumps—and we’re infectious! Give me a kiss!’ She saluted her dazed but submissive relative upon both cheeks; then, instinctively jibbing from the unfamiliar figure by the window, flew back to Mildred. ‘O, Mum!’
Mildred clung to her.
‘My dear, my dear!’ she murmured. ‘My Littlest! Bless you for coming!’ And she meant what she said, in a way which Molly never dreamed of, then or thereafter.
It was Denny who spoke next.
‘I say,’ he exclaimed, ‘who is that perfectly lovely girl out in the garden?’
‘Hoo!’ gasped Molly, in a fresh flutter of excitement, ‘I’d forgotten. That’s Phyllis.’
‘Phyllis Who?’ asked her brother, gazing ardently out of the window.
‘Phyllis Harding. She had nowhere to go, so I brought her here. She’s infectious, too: come and bring her in, Denny. Come along, Uncle Tony!’
She dashed out, with Youth and Age after her, neck and neck. The vision in the garden was plainly an attractive one. Mildred and Denis Cradock were left alone.
‘We can’t go on with this now,’ Mildred said desperately. ‘Come here to-morrow, and we’ll try to—’
But Cradock did not appear to be listening: he was gazing out of the window after the receding figure of Molly.
‘Who is she?’ he asked eagerly. There was a curiously unfamiliar ring in his voice. ‘That child—who is she?’
‘She is my other daughter—and yours.’
Denis Cradock gazed at his wife, fascinated.
‘Mine?’ he said slowly. ‘I never knew!’
‘No. She came to me after you left me. I’m glad no one has mentioned her to you.’
Cradock nodded his head.
‘I see. Your favourite, evidently?’
‘Yes. And if you dare to lay one grimy finger upon her soul; if you dare to dispel one single illusion in the little white palace of dreams that she lives in—I’ll kill you with my own hands, so help me God!’
Cradock shrank back, genuinely appalled. He had never seen his wife like this, nor, indeed, had any one else.
Suddenly cheerful voices broke the silence, and the troupe re-entered, escorting the vision from the garden. Denny had possessed himself of her bag, a receptacle measuring possibly eight inches square. Uncle Tony had retrieved an umbrella. Molly was dancing ahead.
‘Mum,’ she announced, ‘this is Phyllis Harding! She’s a prefect,’ she added, in a hoarse and reverent whisper.
Mildred embraced her unexpected guest with her usual quiet cordiality.
‘How do you do, dear?’ she said. ‘I’m glad Molly had the sense to bring you.’
Miss Harding flushed prettily.
‘Thank you so much,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘My people are in India! so—’
‘Here is some one who will tell you all about India,’ announced Mildred. She indicated Sir Anthony, who seized the opportunity to shake hands for the second time.
Captain Conway was next introduced, but greeted the vision with less intensity than might have been expected.
His attention was focussed elsewhere.
‘Would you like to come out into the garden, Miss Harding?’ suggested Denny, utilising the first interval of silence. ‘You’ve just missed the Regatta, but there’ll be fireworks to-night. I’ll take you out in a canoe,’ he added hurriedly, evidently fearful lest a maturer rival should forestall him.
‘Oh, thank you,’ said Miss Harding, turning her dark eyes upon him.
The pair passed out of the window together. On the way Denny collided with an armchair and tripped over the window-sill, but did not appear to notice.
‘Heigho!’ said Uncle Tony sorrowfully. ‘Si vieillesse pouvait!’
Another voice broke in—a voice with an odd, strained ring about it.
‘Will you please introduce me to this young lady, Mrs. Cradock?’
Mildred turned.
‘I quite forgot,’ she said, smiling. ‘This is my Littlest—Molly. Molly, this is Captain Conway, a very old friend of ours.’
Molly shook hands with her usual cordiality; then looked up, suddenly.
‘An old friend?’ she asked. Then, with a rush:
‘Did you know my father?’
Cradock looked down upon her, still holding her small eager hand. He smiled.
‘Know your father, Molly? None better!’
‘O-o-oh!’ Molly emitted a rapturous sigh, and shook hands again.
The stranger continued to regard her curiously. Apparently the sight of Molly had aroused in him some unfamiliar sensation.
‘I never heard about you, Molly,’ he said. He turned to Mildred, with mock severity. ‘Why haven’t I been told about Molly?’ he asked.
‘I can’t think.’
He pointed to the little table by the fireplace.
‘Why is Molly’s portrait not in the family gallery?’
‘Hallo, Mother!’ said Molly, following his gaze; ‘what’s happened to my photo?’
‘I took it upstairs, dear.’
‘And I know why,’ said Cradock. ‘You were jealous! Tell me, Molly, aren’t you your mother’s favourite?’
‘Oh, no!’ replied Molly seriously. ‘Mother has no favourites; you ask her.’
‘I know she has! You’re the favourite; and she didn’t want to share even your name with—an outsider, like me.’
‘I’m sure you’re not an outsider!’
‘There, you see?’ exclaimed Cradock triumphantly. ‘I have a supporter in this household at last!’ He took up his hat again. ‘It’s settled, then, that I come to lunch to-morrow? Thank you. Au revoir!’
‘I’ll show you the gate,’ said Molly, all solicitude. She reached up and slipped her arm into his. ‘This way—out of the window and across the lawn.’
The pair strode silently to the window. Then Molly broke in again.
‘I ought to warn you,’ she said; ‘I’m infectious. I may give you something.’
Cradock looked down upon her, and smiled.
‘I don’t think you can give me anything, Molly, that I haven’t had already.’
The pair disappeared, and their voices died away. Uncle Tony turned to Mildred.
‘I’m not so sure,’ he said; ‘I’m not so sure!’