“Yes, you do, dear,” Agg corrected her impressively.  “You owe a duty to your mother—­to her memory.  That’s the duty you owe.  I’ll come round for you to-morrow myself in a four-wheeler—­let me see, about eleven.”

George hated the sound of the word ‘duty.’

“Thank you, dear,” Marguerite murmured, and the girls shook hands; they did not kiss.

“Bye-bye, Princey.”

“Bye-bye, Agg.”

“Good night, Mr. Cannon.”

Agg departed, slightly banging the door.

“I think I’ll go back home now,” said Marguerite, in a sweet, firm tone.  “Had they gone out?”

“Who?  Your father and What’s-her-name?  She’s gone, but he hasn’t.  If you don’t want to meet him to-night again, hadn’t you better——­”

“Oh!  If she’s gone, he’ll be gone too by this time.  Trust him!”

Mr. Prince approached them, urging Marguerite soothingly to stay as long as she liked.  She shook her head, and pressed his hand affectionately.

III

When George and Marguerite re-entered No. 8 by the front door, Mr. Haim was still sitting overcome at the tea-table.  They both had sight of him through the open door of the parlour.  Marguerite was obviously disturbed to see him there, but she went straight into the room.  George moved into the darkness of his own room.  He heard the voices of the other two.

“Then you mean to go?” Haim asked accusingly.

Marguerite answered in a calm, good-humoured, sweet tone: 

“Of course, if you mean to marry Mrs. Lobley.”

“Marry Mrs. Lobley!  Of course I shall marry her!” Haim’s voice rose.  “What right have you to settle where I shall marry and where I shan’t?”

“I’ve fixed everything up with Celia Agg,” said Marguerite very quietly.

“You’ve soon arranged it!”

No reply from Marguerite.  The old man spoke again: 

“You’ve no right—­It’ll be an open scandal.”

Then a silence.  George now thought impatiently that a great fuss was being made about a trifle, and that a matter much more important deserved attention.  His ear caught a violent movement.  The old man came out of the parlour, and, instead of taking his hat and rushing off to find the enchantress, he walked slowly and heavily upstairs, preceded by his immense shadow thrown from the hall-lamp.  He disappeared round the corner of the stairs.  George, under the influence of the apparition, was forced to modify his view that all the fuss was over a trifle.  He tiptoed into the parlour.  Marguerite was standing at the table.  As soon as George came in she began to gather the tea-things together on the tray.

“I say!” whispered George.

Marguerite’s bent, tranquil face had a pleasant look as she handled the crockery.

“I shall get him a nice breakfast to-morrow,” she said, also in a whisper.  “And as soon as he’s gone to the office I shall pack.  It won’t take me long, really.”