The next day Harry called again.  
"Master 'aint countermanded the order, Doctor. He 'aint at home—not a bit of it. He 'aint been out of the house since that night."
 
"Well, is Miss Cathcart at home?"
 
"She's said nothing to the contrairy, sir. I believe she is at home.
I know she's out in the garding—on the terridge."
And old Beeves held the door wide open, as if to say—"Don't stop to ask any questions, but step into the garden." Which Harry did.
 
There was a high gravel terrace along one end of it, always dry and sunny when there was any sun going; and there she was, over-looked by the windows of her papa's room.
 
Now I do not know anything that passed upon that terrace. How should I know? Neither of them was likely to tell old Smith. And I wonder at the clumsiness of novelists in pretending to reveal all that he said, and all that she answered. But if I were such a clumsy novelist, I should like to invent it all, and see if I couldn't make you believe every word of it.
 
This is what I would invent.
 
The moment Adela caught sight of Harry, she cast one frightened glance up to her father's windows, and stood waiting. He lifted his hat; and held out his hand. She took it. Neither spoke. They turned together and walked along the terrace.
 
"I am very sorry," said Harry at last.
 
"Are you? What for?"
 
"Because I got you into a scrape."
 
"Oh! I don't care."
 
"Don't you?"
 
"No; not a bit."
 
"I didn't mean it."
 
"What didn't you mean?"
 
"It did look like it, I know."
 
"Look like what?"
 
"Adela, you'll drive me crazy. It was all your fault."
 
"So I told papa, and he was angrier than ever."
 
"You angel! It wasn't your fault. It was your eyes. I couldn't help it.
Adela, I love you dreadfully."
"I'm so glad."
 
She gave a sigh as of relief.
 
"Why?"
 
"Because I wished you would. But I don't deserve it. A great clever man like you love a useless girl like me! I am so glad!"
 
"But your papa?"
 
"I'm so happy, I can't think about him steadily just yet."
 
"Adela, I love you—so dearly! Only I am too old for you."
 
"Old! how old are you?"
 
"Nearly thirty."
 
"And I'm only one-and-twenty. You're worth one and a half of me—yes twenty of me."
 
And so their lips played with the ripples of love, while their hearts were heaving with the ground swell of its tempest.
 
Now what I do know about is this:
 
The colonel came down-stairs in his dressing-gown and slippers, and found Beeves flattening his nose against the glass of the garden-door.
 
"Beeves!" said the colonel.
 
"Sir!" said Beeves, darting around and confronting his master with a face purple and pale from the sense of utter unpreparedness.
 
"Beeves, where is your mistress?"
 
"My mistress, sir? I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure, sir! How should I know, sir? I 'aint let her out. Shall I run up-stairs and see if she is in her room?"
 
"Open the door."
 
Beeves laid violent............