Shirley stood quite still, watching and listening.  The sound of steps in the pergola reached her again, then the rush of flight, and out in the garden a flying figure darted in and out among the walks.  For several minutes two dark figures played at vigorous hide-and-seek.  Occasionally gravel crunched underfoot and shrubbery snapped back with a sharp swish where it was caught and held for support at corners.  Pursued and pursuer were alike silent; the scene was like a pantomime.

Then the tables seemed to be turned; the bulkier figure of the pursuer was now in flight; and Shirley lost both for a moment, but immediately a dark form rose at the wall; she heard the scratch of feet upon the brick surface as a man gained the top, turned and lifted his arm as though aiming a weapon.

Then a dark object, hurled through the air, struck him squarely in the face and he tumbled over the wall, and Shirley heard him crash through the hedge of the neighboring estate, then all was quiet again.

The game of hide-and-seek in the garden and the scramble over the wall had consumed only two or three minutes, and Shirley now waited, her eyes bent upon the darkly-outlined pergola for some manifestation from the remaining intruder.  A man now walked rapidly toward the veranda, carrying a cloak on his arm.  She recognized Armitage instantly.  He doffed his hat and bowed.  The lights of the house lamps shone full upon him, and she saw that he was laughing a little breathlessly.

“This is really fortunate, Miss Claiborne.  I owe your house an apology, and if you will grant me audience I will offer it to you.”

He threw the cloak over his shoulder and fanned himself with his hat.

“You are a most informal person, Mr. Armitage,” said Shirley coldly.

“I’m afraid I am!  The most amazing ill luck follows me!  I had dropped in to enjoy the quiet and charm of your garden, but the tranquil life is not for me.  There was another gentleman, equally bent on enjoying the pergola.  We engaged in a pretty running match, and because I was fleeter of foot he grew ugly and tried to put me out of commission.”

He was still laughing, but Shirley felt that he was again trying to make light of a serious situation, and a further tie of secrecy with Armitage was not to her liking.  As he walked boldly to the veranda steps, she stepped back from him.

“No!  No!  This is impossible—­it will not do at all, Mr. Armitage.  It is not kind of you to come here in this strange fashion.”

“In this way forsooth!  How could I send in my card when I was being chased all over the estate!  I didn’t mean to apologize for coming”—­and he laughed again, with a sincere mirth that shook her resolution to deal harshly with him.  “But,” he went on, “it was the flowerpot!  He was mad because I beat him in the foot-race and wanted to shoot me from the wall, and I tossed him a potted geranium—­geraniums are splendid for the purpose—­and it caught him square in the head.  I have the knack of it!  Once before I handed him a boiling-pot!”