Mr. Nicholl, Chairman of the Playground Committee--commonly known as "young Nick" to distinguish him from his brother, "old Nick," a master of irascible disposition--sat awaiting Tony Bevan's collaboration in that gentleman's comfortable study. While he waited, young Nick indulged in all manner of romantic surmises as to his colleague's probable engagement during the recent vacation. Young Nick was really young, and was not in the least short-sighted. The brilliantly lighted dining-room and its two occupants were almost forced upon his notice as he walked up the drive to B. House, and it was with the greatest interest, tempered by considerable good-natured amusement, that he beheld Tony Bevan, shyest and, apparently, most confirmed of bachelors, in an attitude that implied familiar, and even tender relations, with so young and attractive a girl.

"Sly dog, old Tony," he reflected. "Kept it uncommonly dark till he springs the girl upon us. She must be years younger than he is--wonder what she saw in old Tony? I'd like to know how the affair strikes Miss Foster--suppose she cleared out to give 'em a few minutes together. Shouldn't have chosen that room to spoon in if I'd been them--too public by far. Wonder how long he'll keep me waiting here? Shouldn't have thought old Tony would have had the courage to face Miss Foster. I'd have done it by letter if I'd been in his shoes; perhaps he did. Anyway, she won't half like it. Thought she was a fixture here for evermore, and pitied old Tony from the bottom of my heart. Well! Well! If ever a man was safe from matrimony, old Tony seemed that chap--but no one's safe. Only she really does look rather too much of a kiddie for him. Good old Tony! he's a thorough sportsman and deserves the best of luck, but it's quaint of him to spring her upon us without saying a word first. I wonder why now----"

Here young Nick's reflections were interrupted by the entrance of their subject, a little breathless; a little rumpled about the hair, for Lallie at parting had thrown her arms about his neck with more warmth than discretion; a little stirred out of his usual comfortable serenity.

Young Nick held out his hand, smiling broadly.

"It's no use pretending I didn't see, old chap, for I did. Heartiest grats.----"

Tony Bevan stepped back a pace, nor did he make any attempt to clasp the proffered hand. "Look here, Nicholl. For heaven's sake don't let there be any mistake of that sort; that child is Paddy Clonmell's sister----"

Tony paused; and young Nick, thoroughly enjoying his evident discomfort, remarked encouragingly.

"Well, there's no objection in that, is there?"

"Confound it!" Tony Bevan exclaimed angrily. "You've got hold of a totally wrong idea; that child has been sent to me by her father--by her father, mind you--to look after while he goes big game shooting in India this winter. I've known her since she was a month old, and I've known him since I was his fag here, five-and-twenty years ago. She's always looked on me as a sort of uncle, and she's demonstrative, poor little girl, like all the Irish----"

"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said young Nick, with blue eyes that would twinkle merrily in spite of all his efforts to the contrary; "but you must confess it was a natural misconception. You see, you'd kept it so uncommonly dark about her coming."

"Kept it dark!" Tony echoed indignantly. "Kept it dark! Why, I only knew myself that Clonmell wanted me to have her this morning; and in his letter he said, 'in a week or so'; then the child appears to-night, wholly unexpectedly, and it's deuced awkward, for Miss Foster's gone away for the week-end to a niece's wedding."

"Can't you get one of the married masters to have her till Miss Foster comes back?"

"No, I can't do that; she'd be awfully hurt. They're all the soul of hospitality themselves, and I could never make her understand my reasons. I must worry through somehow, only don't you go off with any ridiculously wrong impression."

"Of course not, of course not," young Nick remarked solemnly, still gazing at Tony with eyes that seemed unable quite to see him in this new r?le of guardian to a young lady.

They stared at each other in silence for a minute, and what young Nick saw was a broad-shouldered, tall man, rather short-necked, very square-jawed, brown and weather-beaten as to complexion; a well-shaved man with a trustworthy but by no means beautiful mouth, except when he smiled, when two rows of strong, absolutely perfect teeth, redeemed its plainness. Of Tony Bevan's nose, the less said the better. It was inconspicuous and far from classical in shape, but his eyes were really fine: humorous, clear, very brown eyes that were in truth the mirrors of a kind and candid soul. His head was good, with plenty of breadth and height above the ear; his hair thick and usually very smooth and sleek.

"Clonmell senior must surely have married very young if you were his fag here," young Nick continued.

"Clonmell married in his second year at Balliol, and Lallie and Paddy were born while he was still an undergraduate. He's just twenty-three years older than the twins--in years; in mind and conduct I do believe he's younger than either of them, and heaven knows they're young enough. Of course the Balliol authorities were furious at his marriage, but he was so brilliant, they let him stay on, for they didn't want to lose him. He was up five years you know, and took all sorts of honours in classics. It was just the same here; any other chap would have got the sack for half the things he did, but they knew he was safe for a Balliol scholarship and didn't want to lose him."

"I've seen his name up in the big classical. Was he like Paddy?"

"Very like Paddy. Didn't you see him when he was down here for the last concert, standing on a chair and singing 'Auld Lang Syne,' long after he ought to have shut up? Paddy's the living image of what he was at the same age, but hasn't half his brains. When he was here he had his prefect's star taken away three times; got it back; and finally they had to make him head of his house, for he was already captain of the eleven; and for years won every short race in the sports. But you could never tell what he'd do next. It wasn't that he broke rules, so much as that he always seemed to think of doing things no mortal had conceived possible. No code of rules on earth could be framed to forbid the doings of Fitzroy Clonmell."

"Yet I suppose he was a good chap, really? Paddy was a thoroughly nice boy, with all his vagaries."

"So was his father. Everybody liked him; everybody likes him to this day. He looks far too young to be anybody's father, and is tremendously popular wherever he is; but he's never in one place long--he's the most restless fellow in the world--and now he has gone to India, and left Lallie on my hands."

"Surely it was an odd thing to do? A house for boys in a public school seems an incongruous sort of place to select."

"It's just because it is a house for boys he has selected it. His theory is that nowhere is a girl so safe as surrounded by boys and men. I can see his reasoning myself, but you can't make the world see it. However, we'd better get those times fixed up and fit in the various teams. All that beastly physical drill to arrange, too--but you understand, don't you, Nicholl?"

"I quite understand," young Nick replied with so profound a gravity that Tony instantly suspected him of a desire to laugh.

They lit their pipes, and for an hour or more wrestled with the problem in hand. Then young Nick departed.

The instant Tony was left alone he sat him down in a comfortable chair, switched on the electric light behind his head, and drew from his pocket a letter. First of all he looked at the date, which he had not done when he read it in the morning. It was dated eight days back, but the postmark was that of the day before.

"Dear old Tony," it ran, "one always thinks of you when one wants anything done in a hurry, and done most uncommonly well. That's what you get by being so confoundedly conscientious and good-natured. The combination is a rare one. I, for instance, am good-natured, but my worst enemy couldn't call me tiresomely conscientious. Whenever you see my handwriting, you will say, 'Wonder what young Fitz wants now? Of course he wants something,' and of course I do. I want you to look after Lallie for me till the end of March. You've got a magnificent big house--far too large for a bachelor like you. You've got a lady-housekeeper whose manifest propriety is so stupendous that even Paddy is awed by it--a lady, I am sure, estimable in every respect--and you have fifty boys ranging from thirteen to nineteen. Oh, yes! and I forgot the worthy Paunch and Val. Now if you can't, amongst you, look after my little girl for six months you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. She's too old to put to school; I don't want to leave her with hunting friends where she'd be engaged and perhaps married before I got back. Young men are for ever falling in love with Lallie of late, and it's a terrible nuisance. She cares not a penny for any of them, so long as I am there to prove by comparison how inferior they all are to her own father. But with me away, who knows but that their blandishments might prevail? And I have other plans for Lallie--but not yet. As you know, I've brought her up in a sensible reasonable human sort of fashion. She has been taught to look upon mankind--and by mankind I mean the male portion of humanity--as fellow creatures, just as much deserving of kindness and trust and straightforward dealing as girls or women; and because she looks upon them as fellow-creatures, with no ridiculous mystery or conventional barriers between her and them, she is far safer than most girls not to make a fool of herself or to be taken in by cheap external attractions. Of course she's a bit of a flirt--what self-respecting Irish girl is not?--and your big boys will all be sighing at her shrine, but it will neither do them nor her any harm.

"I don't often speak of Alice these days, but I never forget, and I know you'll be kind to my little girl for her sake. Let the child go to the dancing school, though there's little they can teach her; and she can keep up her singing, and perhaps she'd better ride, though riding with a master will be little to Lallie's taste. I enclose a cheque for the lessons, etc. She's a good girl, Tony; and in spite of her unusually sensible up-bringing, is as delicately feminine in all her instincts as any old Tabby in Hamchester.

"Lord Nenogh offered me third gun in his shoot in India this cold weather, and I couldn't resist it. I was getting a bit musty. I've been bear-leading those children for eighteen months--ever since dear old Madame died. Lallie and I always hit it off perfectly, but Paddy's too like me, and gets on my nerves and reminds me that I'm not so young as I was, and I felt I needed a complete change of scene and people, if I am to remain the agreeable fellow I always have been; and I couldn't take Lallie with me tiger shooting, now could I? We sail from Marseilles in the Mooltan on the 29th; send me a line to the poste restante there, just to tell me that my property has duly reached you--as it should about the 23rd. Till then I shall be flying about all over the place.

"Take care of my Lallie.

"Yours as ever,

    "Fitz."

The writing was small, close, upright, and distinct. When he had read the letter through Tony examined the envelope and found from its appearance that it had evidently spent a considerable time in somebody's pocket: either that of the writer or of some untrustworthy messenger.

He lit another pipe, and as he watched the fragrant clouds of smoke roll forth and spend themselves about the room, his mind was busy with memories of Fitzroy Clonmell; brilliant, inconsequent, lovable failure.

"He wouldn't have been a failure if his wife had lived," Tony always maintained to those who, remembering Fitz and his early promise of notable achievements, lamented his falling off; his wholesale violation of those youthful pledges.

Tony found himself going back to those first years at Oxford, when brilliant Fitz did all he could to push his young schoolfellow among the athletic set, where, reading man as Fitz undoubtedly had been then, his place was quite as assured as in the schools. Tony remembered his shock of surprise when in his first term he went to Clonmell's rooms in the High, to find them tenanted by a brown-haired, gentle-voiced girl who informed him she was "Mrs. Clonmell"--Alice Clonmell.

    "Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?
    Sweet Alice, with hair hazel brown"--

Fitz used to sing at a time when the whole world read "Trilby," and make eyes at his wife the while. She was very kind to Tony, and he adored her with the humble dog-like devotion of a rather plain and awkward youth whom ladies usually ignored.

He remembered the wrath of the Balliol authorities, and Fitz's account of his stormy interview with the little Master, and how after much of what Fitz called "fruitless altercation," he wheedled the Master into coming to see Alice. Whereupon that dignitary observed that "there were, perhaps, extenuating circumstances, which must be taken into consideration."

By and by there came the twins, who were known as "the Balliol Babies."

Fitz, to the disappointment of all his friends, was called to the Irish, not the English, Bar. But he was Irish before all else, and declared that his brilliant abilities were far too precious and illuminating to be taken out of his own country.

He practised with some success in Dublin. People began to talk of him as a young lawyer who had arrived, when Alice met with the carriage accident which caused her death.

Fitz threw up all his prospects at the Bar, left Ireland, and, with the two children and their old nurse, wandered about Europe for a while, finally settling them in a tiny hill-side villa near the village of Veulettes, in Normandy, with an old French lady, in charge as governess. It happened at that time that his own little property near Cahirciveen in County Kerry, which had been let on a long lease during his minority, fell vacant, and Fitz went back there for the spring months, taking Madame, his French cook, and his children with him. He kept on the villa at Veulettes, and the family lived alternately in Kerry and in Normandy, as it happened to suit its erratic head. Fitz was a keen fisherman, and a good shot. The fishing at Cahirciveen was beyond reproach. When he wanted good hunting he took a little house for the season either in Kildare or some hunting county in England, and wherever he went Madame and Lallie, the Irish nurse and Celestine the French cook, went in his train, and they were joined in the vacations by Paddy, who had been sent to preparatory school at a very tender age.

Tony's pipe went out as he sat thinking of the innumerable vacations he had spent with the Clonmells; of their warm-hearted and tireless hospitality shown to him wherever that somewhat nomadic family happened to be. No one knew better than Tony Bevan that Fitzroy Clonmell would gladly share all he possessed with him, to the half of his kingdom; and looking back down the long valley of years that lay behind him, Tony could not see one that was not brightened by a thousand kindnesses from Fitz. From the time he came as an ugly little fourth-form boy to Hamchester, where Fitz was the idol of the lower school, the admiration of all the bloods, and the trial and terror of most of the masters, he had nothing to remember of him but good-nature, good feeling, and good friendship. Fitz was casual, erratic, eccentric; nothing was stable about him except his affections. The affections of his friends he often strained almost to the snapping point by his irritating incapacity for observing regular days or hours or ordinary conventions; but somehow the strained affections always contracted into place again, and people shrugged their shoulders and exclaimed, "Just like Fitz!" and forgave him in the long run, till he made them angry again, when a precisely similar process was repeated.

Tony saw as in a vision innumerable pictures of Lallie as an elf-like small girl who always responded with enthusiastic affection to the rather shy advances of the strong ugly young man who was so good at games, so popular with his fellow sportsmen, so extremely shy in any other society.

Every stranger noticed handsome Paddy, even as a baby; but for the most part they passed Lallie by in her childhood, and Tony's notice and affection were very precious to her. He and the quaint, pale-faced little girl had much in common: they understood one another. He hadn't seen Lallie for over a year, and during that time she had changed and developed. Her manner had acquired a certain poise and balance wholly lacking to the wild, shy nymph of Irish river and Norman hillside that he knew so well.

Old Madame's death had made her not only more than ever the companion of her father, but it had also made her mistress of his house, and Lallie had found in herself all sorts of latent powers and possibilities, hitherto wholly unsuspected, and these had crystallised into qualities. Tony realised that while she was temperamentally the same Lallie--subtle, sensitive, responsive to every smallest change in the mental atmosphere--a new Lallie had arisen, who would be by no means so easily dealt with, and a shrewd suspicion flashed across his mind that Fitzroy Clonmell was equally aware of the change, and that with his customary cleverness he had shifted the responsibility on to other shoulders than his own.

Tony sat so still that Val came from under the chair, stretched himself, and laid his head softly on his master's knees, regarding him with tenderly inquiring eyes. The clock on the mantelpiece struck twelve, and Tony arose.

"Time for bed, old chap," he said, "but we'll have a look at the night first."

He and the dog went out into the garden, and Tony looked up at the black bulk of the house against the moonlit sky. The great dormitories in the wing lay stark and silent, all their teeming life wrapped in the silence of healthy boyhood's slumber; and there too, in Miss Foster's room above his own study, lay Lallie--Lallie, with her bodyguard of fifty boys. He smiled at the quaint fancy. Val rubbed himself against his master's legs.

"Well, Val, we must do our best to take care of her," said Tony, "but I can't have her flirting with my boys and upsetting them. That would never do. However, it isn't as if she was one of those flaringly pretty girls that every fellow turns round to look at."

Somehow this reflection did not seem to afford much comfort to Tony. A vision of Lallie's face lifted to his as she said good-night came between him and the comfortable assurance that she, at all events, was not pretty. How soft her dark hair was!--and it smelt of violets. Poor little motherless, warm-hearted Lallie!

He saw Val comfortably settled in his basket, and went quietly up the dark staircase. He paused outside Lallie's door to listen; all was perfectly still. In another half-hour every soul in B. House was fast asleep.