‘There!’ exclaimed Ethelberta petulantly.  ’How I dislike a man to misrepresent things!  He said there was not time for a reply!’

‘Perhaps he didn’t know,’ said Picotee, in angel tones; ’and so it happens all right, and he has got it, and he will not come after all.’

They waited and waited, but Christopher did not appear that night; the true case being that his declaration about insufficient time for a reply was merely an ingenious suggestion to her not to be so cruel as to forbid him.  He was far from suspecting when the letter of denial did reach him—­about an hour before the time of appointment—­that it was sent by a refinement of art, of which the real intention was futility, and that but for his own misstatement it would have been carefully delayed.

The next day another letter came from the musician, decidedly short and to the point.  The irate lover stated that he would not be made a fool of any longer:  under any circumstances he meant to come that self-same afternoon, and should decidedly expect her to see him.

‘I will not see him!’ said Ethelberta.  ‘Why did he not call last night?’

‘Because you told him not to,’ said Picotee.

’Good gracious, as if a woman’s words are to be translated as literally as Homer!  Surely he is aware that more often than not “No” is said to a man’s importunities because it is traditionally the correct modest reply, and for nothing else in the world.  If all men took words as superficially as he does, we should die of decorum in shoals.’

’Ah, Berta! how could you write a letter that you did not mean should be obeyed?’

’I did in a measure mean it, although I could have shown Christian forgiveness if it had not been.  Never mind; I will not see him.  I’ll plague my heart for the credit of my sex.’

To ensure the fulfilment of this resolve, Ethelberta determined to give way to a headache that she was beginning to be aware of, go to her room, disorganize her dress, and ruin her hair by lying down; so putting it out of her power to descend and meet Christopher on any momentary impulse.

Picotee sat in the room with her, reading, or pretending to read, and Ethelberta pretended to sleep.  Christopher’s knock came up the stairs, and with it the end of the farce.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Ethelberta in the prompt and broadly-awake tone of one who had been concentrated on the expectation of that sound for a length of time, ’it was a mistake in me to do this!  Joey will be sure to make a muddle of it.’

Joey was heard coming up the stairs.  Picotee opened the door, and said, with an anxiety transcending Ethelberta’s, ‘Well?’

‘O, will you tell Mrs. Petherwin that Mr. Julian says he’ll wait.’

‘You were not to ask him to wait,’ said Ethelberta, within.

‘I know that,’ said Joey, ’and I didn’t.  He’s doing that out of his own head.’