He was indeed a magnificently cautious man.

"What can we do?" she cried.

Andrew scrutinized her carefully. She might be fibbing; she might be up to some of her tricks again; this might even be a move arranged with his father. One could not be too prudent.

"What do you propose to do?" he asked.

"Bring him to his senses if it's possible: if not--Oh, Andrew, his conduct is infamous! I don't care what we do to punish--I mean to restrain him."

At last, after many days' abstinence, the junior partner smiled. It was not a very wide, nor in the least a merry smile; his cheeks bulged only slightly under its gentle pressure, and the satisfaction which smiles traditionally notify seemed savored with a squeeze or two of lemon. But it marked the beginning of a new coalition, an ominous disturbance of the balance of power.

"That is exactly the point I have under consideration myself," he said.

"The difficulty is, how is it to be managed?"

She seated herself within twelve feet of him, and yet he did not shrink from her now with modest mistrust.

"It seems to me perfectly obvious what we should do. Just offer him an alternative."

"What alternative?" asked Andrew.

Meanwhile, Mr. Walkingshaw was spending one of the happiest evenings he remembered. There was indeed some slight constraint in the drawing-room so long as his sister remained there, but when, after a series of sighs which punctuated some twenty minutes' pointed silence, she at last bade them a depressed good-night, the three happy lovers gave rein to their hearts. Heriot gave the loosest rein of all. It almost seemed as if a lover set at liberty was even happier than a lover just engaged. He had that air of animated relief noticeable in the escaped victims of a conscientious dentist. As for his children, they adored him little less than they adored two other people who were not there.

Yet once or twice Jean fell thoughtful. At last she said--

"I wonder whether we ought to go out to the Comyns' to-morrow after all?"

"My dear girl, why not? You'll have a very pleasant time there; and anyhow, it's too late to write and tell them you aren't coming."

"We could wire in the morning," she said. "Frank, do you think we ought to go?"

He looked a little surprised, but answered readily, "Not if you don't want to."

"But why not go?" their father repeated.

She hesitated. "Are you quite sure Andrew and Madge won't--won't try to be unpleasant?"

"Let them try if they like!" laughed Heriot. "But I a.s.sure you, my dear girl, I was so reasonable--so unanswerable, in fact--that they simply can't feel annoyed for more than a few hours. Hang it, they are very nice good people at heart. Just give 'em time to let the proper point of view sink in, and they'll be chirpy as sparrows again. Besides, what good could you do by staying at home? The Comyns have a nice place; you'll have a capital time. I insist on your going."

"Very well, then," said Jean.

Yet she could hardly picture Andrew and her cousin quite as chirpy as sparrows.

And all this time, beneath the very floor of the room where they laughed, the plans of the coalition ripened.

CHAPTER VI

In the course of breakfast upon the following morning, Heriot startled his junior partner by announcing his intention of putting in a strenuous day's work at the office. Andrew exchanged a curious glance with Mrs.

Dunbar, and then merely inquired--

"When will you be back?"

"Four o'clock," said Heriot cheerfully. "Quite long enough hours for a man of my age" (he smiled humorously at his son). "Of course there's sure to be a lot of things to put right, and so on" (Andrew raised a startled eye), "but I'll polish 'em off by four."

He ate a remarkably hearty breakfast and strode off blithely, this time a few minutes ahead of his partner. It was an even more singular thing that Andrew should linger to confer once more with the lady he had so lately regarded as the impersonation of everything suspicious.

Another curious incident happened later in the day. At lunch-time the junior partner left the office, and, without giving an explanation, remained absent through the afternoon. Not that Heriot missed him. He smoked and wrote and rallied Mr. Thomieson, and dictated letters which left his confidential clerk divided between the extremes of admiration for their shrewdness and horror at the terse and lively style in which they were couched; in short, he got through a day's work that sent him home at four o'clock in the best of spirits.

Andrew met him in the hall.

"Hullo," said Heriot, "where have you been all this time?"

"I want to speak to you for a minute," his son replied, and then, as his father turned naturally towards the library door, stayed him. "There's some one in there. Just come into the dining-room for a moment."

"Who's in there?"

Andrew waited till he had got him behind the closed door, and then said very gravely--

"It's Mrs. Dunbar and a friend of hers."

"What friend?--Not old Charlie Munro?"

"A Mr. Brown. Possibly you've not heard of him before, but I understand he's a connection of her late husband's family. She's asked him to come and meet you."

The exceeding solemnity of his manner obviously affected Heriot's high spirits.

"What's up?" he inquired.

"I should hardly think you would need to ask that, considering what has pa.s.sed between you. In fact, I gather that they want to be satisfied there's some reasonable explanation of your conduct."

Mr. Walkingshaw gently whistled.

"Oh, that's the game, is it? Well, I suppose I'll just have to tell him the simple truth, in justice to myself."

His son heartily agreed.

"It's the only thing to be done," said he, "the only honest course left, so far as I can see. Just make a clean breast of everything, and you may trust me to confirm all you say."

"My dear boy, you're devilish good. I'm afraid I really haven't been as appreciative lately as I ought. You're talking like a sportsman now.

Come on, we'll go in and tackle 'em together."

He took his son's arm and gave him a friendly smile as they crossed the hall; but the seriousness of the situation seemed to prevent Andrew from returning these evidences of comradeship.