I laid the bursting sun on the table, and told them everything, very fast, without pausing to take breath, so that they wouldn’t have time to stop me.  But I didn’t begin with the bursting sun, or even with the beating that Bertie was enjoying in the woods; I began with the Princess Boriskoff, and Lady Kilmarny; and I addressed Sir Samuel, from beginning to end.  Somehow, I felt I had his sympathy, even when I rushed at the most embarrassing part, which concerned his stepson and the necktie.

Just as I’d told about the brooch, and Bertie’s threat, and was coming to his punishment, another knock at the door produced the two young men, both pale, but Jack with a noble pallor, while Bertie’s was the sick paleness of pain and shame.

“I’ve brought him to apologize to Miss d’Angely, in your presence, Sir Samuel, and Lady Turnour’s,” said the chauffeur.  “I see you know something of the story.”

“They know all now,” said I. For Bertie’s face proved the truth of my words, if they had needed proof.  His eyes were swimming in tears, and he looked like a whipped school-boy.

But suddenly a whim roused her ladyship to speak up in his defence—­or at least to criticize the chauffeur for presuming to take her stepson’s chastisement into his hands.

“What right have you to set yourself up as Elise’s champion, anyway?” she demanded, shrilly.  “Have you and she been getting engaged to each other behind our backs?”

“It would be my highest happiness to be engaged to Miss d’Angely if she would marry me,” said Jack, with such a splendidly sincere ring in his voice that I could almost have believed him if I hadn’t known he was in love with another woman.  “But I am no match for her.  It’s only as her friend that I have acted in her defence, as any decent man has a right to act when a lady is insulted.”

Then Bertie apologized, in a dull voice, with his eyes on the ground, and mumbled a kind of confession, mixed with self-justification.  He had pocketed the brooch, yes, meaning to play a trick, but had intended no harm, only a little fun—­pretty girl—­lady’s-maids didn’t usually mind a bit of a flirtation and a present or two; how was he to know this one was different?  Sorry if he had caused annoyance; could say no more—­and so on, and so on, until I stopped him, having heard enough.

Poor Sir Samuel was crestfallen, but not too utterly crushed to reproach his bride with unwonted sharpness, when she would have scolded me for carelessness in not putting the brooch away.  “Let the girl alone!” he grumbled, “she’s a very good girl, and has behaved well.  I wish I could say the same of others nearer to me.”

“Of course, Sir Samuel, after what’s happened, you wouldn’t want me to stay in your employ, any more than I would want to stay,” said Jack.  “Unfortunately the Aigle will be hung up two or three days, till new pinions can be fitted in, at the garage.  I can send them out from Paris, if you like; but no doubt you’ll prefer to have my engagement with you to come to an end to-day.  Mr. Stokes has driven the car, and can again.”