apologise."

He did apologise--not with the best grace.

"My turn next," his father struck in. "What the dickens were you up
to--tearing slices out of my finest tree!" His twinkly eyes were almost
grave and his voice was almost stern. ("Just because of Aunt Jane!"
thought Roy.)

Aloud he said: "I'm awfully sorry, Daddy. It was only ... Tara got in a
muddle. I had to help her."

The twinkle came back to his father's eyes.

"The woman tempted me!" was all he said; and Roy, hopelessly mystified,
wondered how he could possibly know. It was very clever of him. But Aunt
Jane seemed shocked.

"Nevil, be quiet!" she commanded in a crisp undertone; and Roy, simply
hating her, pulled out his watch.

"We've got to hurry, Daddy. Mother said 'not later than half-past.' And
it is later."

"Scoot, then. She'll be anxious because of the storm."

But though Roy, grasping Tara's hand, faithfully hurried ahead because
of mother, he managed to keep just within earshot; and he listened
shamelessly, because of Aunt Jane. You couldn't trust her. She didn't
play fair. She would bite you behind your back. That's the kind of woman