"I will talk to you presently," he said. "You clear out!"

He pushed past Charlie and went straight to the girl. His jaw was set
with a determination that would have astonished most of his friends.

"What is it, Molly?" he said, halting close beside her. "What is wrong,
child?"

But Molly could not tell him. She turned towards him indeed, laying an
imploring hand on his arm; but she kept her face hidden and uttered no
word.

It was Charlie who plunged recklessly into the opening breach--plunged
with a wholesale gallantry, regardless of everything but the moment's
emergency.

"It's my doing, Fisher," he declared, his voice shaking a little. "I've
been making an ass of myself. It was, partly your fault, too--yours and
Bertie's. Let her go! I'll explain."

He was excited and he spoke quickly, but his eyes were very steady.

"Molly," he said, "you go upstairs! You've got to dress, you know, and
you'll be late. I'll make it all right. Don't you worry yourself!"

Molly lifted a perfectly white face and looked at Fisher. She met his
eyes, struggled with herself a moment, then with quivering lips turned
slowly away. He did not try to stop her. He realised that Charlie must
be disposed of before he attempted to extract an explanation from her.