“Will you go in, madam?” he said, in his careful English that always made her think of an animal that had been taught to speak.

She went in, treading lightly, relieved to leave the man’s heavy scowling visage behind her.

“Come right in,” said Lucas hospitably.  “It’s real good of you to come and see me like this.”

She took his outstretched hand, looking at him anxiously.  She saw that he had not slept for many hours.  Though he smiled at her, there was a grey look about his lips that made her wonder if he were in pain.

“Sit down,” he said gently.  “It’s nothing.  Only another bad night.  I can’t expect to sleep soundly always.”

“How disappointing!” Dot murmured.

“Not surprising though.  I had an exciting day yesterday.  You heard of Nap’s return?”

“Yes.”  There was a very decided cloud upon Dot’s face.  “I saw him.”

“Well?” said Lucas.

She turned to him impulsively.  “Isn’t it horrid when the thing you’ve been planning for and wanting ever so long happens and everyone else is cross?”

The blue eyes looked quizzical.  “Very, I should say,” said Lucas.  “Would it be presumptuous to ask what has been happening and who is cross?”

Dot’s answering smile held more of pathos than mirth.  Her lips took a quivering, downward droop.  “It’s Nap,” she said.

He raised his brows a little.  “Nap seems the general pivot on which all grievances turn,” he remarked.

Dot leaned her chin on her hand.  “I do so hate making mistakes,” she said.

“We all do it,” said Lucas.

“Oh, you don’t!” She turned and gravely regarded him.  “You are always wise,” she said, “never headlong.”

“Which only demonstrates your ignorance and the kindness of your heart,” said Lucas.  “But go on, won’t you?  What has Nap been doing?”

“Oh, nothing.  Nap is all right.  It isn’t Nap I mind.”  Again that doleful droop of the lips became apparent, together with a little quiver of the voice undeniably piteous.  “It—­it’s Bertie,” whispered Dot.  “I—­I—­it’s very ridiculous, isn’t it?  I’m a wee bit afraid of Bertie, do you know?”

“St. Christopher!” said Lucas, in astonishment.

“Yes.  But you won’t ever tell him, will you?” she pleaded anxiously.  “If—­if he knew or guessed—­all my prestige would be gone.  I shouldn’t be able to manage him at all.  He—­he is rather difficult to manage sometimes, don’t you think?”

Lucas was frowning slightly.  “I guess I can manage him,” he said.

“No doubt you could.  I expect you always have.  He respects you,” said Dot, with unwitting wistfulness.

Lucas turned his head and looked at her very steadily.  “Will you tell me something, Dot?” he said.

She nodded.

“Why are you afraid of Bertie?”

She hesitated.

“Come!” he said.  “Surely you’re not afraid of me too!”