"Oh, I'll manage him, mother, if you're nervous."

"I really think you must. I have not the courage to make or meddle in this matter; in short, I wash my hands of it."

Antonia clapped hers.

"Hurrah!" she said. "I can manage much better all by myself. All I ask you now, dear, good mother, is to trust me. Be sure that nothing whatever will happen to injure you, and simply give me leave to say, when I am telegraphing, that you would like to see Sir John."

"Well, naturally, I always like to see him, dear, devoted fellow."

"That's all right. Now you shall go back to your tea, and I'll be as mum as a mouse for the rest of the day."

Mrs. Bernard Temple left the room, relieved at any sort of truce with her troublesome daughter. Antonia addressed the telegraph form to ...

_Sir John Thornton, The Grange, Nortonbury_, and filled in the following words:--

"Mother wants to see you without fail this evening. Take next train. Important. Antonia. Reply paid."

The words went hard with the enthusiastic girl, for her precious eight shillings were nearly exhausted, and she knew that she must deny herself some sadly-needed cobalt if she sent that telegram.

"Never mind," she said, as she let herself out of the house, and rushed off to the nearest post-office. "You must do without that background of blue sky which I so wanted for your picture, Marie Antoinette. It is odd, but I never did think that I would allow Art to suffer in the cause of an ugly duckling."

Antonia sent off her telegram and watched anxiously for the reply. It came in the course of an hour and a half, and was addressed to her mother.

"Expect me by the train which reaches Waterloo at nine o'clock,"

wired the gallant Sir John.

"There, now, Antonia," said Mrs. Bernard Temple, "you have only yourself to blame. What is to be done? We shall be at the theatre at nine o'clock."

"Nothing could possibly be better, mother; I shan't go. I shall wait here for Sir John; we'll have a nice quiet time."

"My dear, I'm afraid he'll be terribly offended."

"No, mother, he won't; at least, not with you. Now, do go the theatre and be happy. Take Annie and Nora, and let them enjoy themselves. I promise you that you shall have serene skies on your return. Can't you trust me? Did you ever find me fail you yet when I promised you anything?"

"No, I never did, you queer, queer creature."

Mrs. Bernard Temple was restored to good humour. Dinner pa.s.sed off pleasantly, and immediately afterwards a cab conveyed three of the party to the Lyceum.

Antonia had donned her rusty brown velveteen dress, and sat with her hands folded in front of her in a deep armchair.

Her black hair was combed high over her forehead; her eyes were bright.

Anxiety had brought a slight colour into her cheeks; she looked almost handsome.

At about twenty minutes past nine a cab was heard to stop at the door, and a moment later Sir John Thornton was ushered into the drawing-room.

"How do you do?" he said, in a stiff voice, to Antonia. "Where is your mother? Her telegram has startled me a good deal."

"It was my telegram," said Antonia, in a calm voice.

"Well, that does not matter. Will you have the goodness to inform your mother that I am here?"

"I can't very well at the present moment, for she is enjoying herself at the Lyceum."

Sir John's face grew scarlet. He drew himself up to his stiffest att.i.tude, and compressed his lips firmly together.

"Perhaps you feel annoyed," said Antonia, "and I don't think I am surprised. Will you sit down and let me explain matters?"

"Pray do nothing of the kind. I can wait until Mrs. Bernard Temple comes home. When is the play likely to be over?"

"I expect mother and Annie and Nora back about half-past eleven. It is now half-past nine. Have you had dinner?"

"No."

"Will you come downstairs, and let me give you something to eat?"

"No, thank you. As your mother is not at home, I shall dine at my club, and come back later on."

"No, you won't," said Antonia.

She started up, and placed herself between Sir John and the door. He felt himself groaning inwardly. Was that awful girl mad? What did her strange telegram mean? And why, if Mrs. Bernard Temple sent for him in a hurry, had she not the civility to wait at home to see him? This was really taking matters with a free-and-easy hand with a vengeance. The proud Sir John had never felt more thoroughly angry in his life. He stalked up to Antonia now, and endeavoured to pa.s.s her, but she dodged him successfully.

"I know you are a gentleman," she said; "and a gentleman always listens to what a lady has got to say, even when he is angry with her. I'm an awful personage in your eyes, but if you will listen to me to-night, I will promise to be as good and un.o.btrusive as girl can be in the future.

I'll even wear ordinary dresses when I come to visit you, and I won't talk of my sacred Art when you are in the room. There, can girl promise more?--can she?"

"Will you have the goodness to let me pa.s.s?" said Sir John.

"I will in a moment or two. You shall go and dine at your club after you have heard why I sent for you."

"Why _you_ sent for me?" exclaimed Sir John.

"Oh, yes; it was all my doing."

"But the message certainly came in your mother's name."

"Yes, because you would not have come otherwise. It was I, Antonia, who really sent for you. You have come up to town in this violent hurry on my account. Now, will you come down to eat a very nice little dinner which has been prepared, and which the cook is waiting to send upstairs, and let me talk to you while you are enjoying it? Or will you listen to me here, and then go afterwards to your club? You must do one or other, unless you are rude enough to take me by main force and move me away from the door."

Sir John Thornton might be very angry, but he was the pink of propriety, and the idea of lifting the bony Antonia from the neighbourhood of the door was too repellent even to be thought of for a moment.

"You have got me into a trap," he said, "and I am deeply offended. Your mother must explain the position of affairs to me when she chooses to return home. I suppose I must listen to you, whether I wish it or not. I only beg of you to be brief."

"Now you are delightful," said Antonia. "Won't you sit down?"

"I prefer to stand."

"Well, I'll sit, if you don't mind, for I've a good deal to say."

"I must again beg of you to be brief."

"Very well; I'll put it into a few words, but they'll be strong, I promise you."