“Interrupt?  No,” said that youth.  “Welcome to our prayer-meeting!  I’ve planned a picnic and a sail for Zura and me to-night.  This lady says it shall not be and I’m speculating who’s going to stop it.”

Page stepped quietly up to the defiant Pinkey.  “I will, Mr. Chalmers, if necessary.  I know nothing of your plans, but in this place Miss Jenkins’s word is law.  You and I are here to obey it as gentlemen.”

Tommy blazed.  “Gentlemen!  Who are you, I’d like to know, pushing in and meddling with my affairs,” he said.

At the challenge the old look of confusion momentarily clouded Page’s eyes.  Then with an effort he found himself.  “My ancestry would not appeal to you, sir.  But”—­half good-humoredly—­“the punch of my fist might.”

[Illustration:  Page started forward.  A sound stopped him]

“Oh h—­h—­ho!” stuttered Pinkey, angry and game.  “You want to fight, do you!  Light in!  I’m ready.”

Page started forward.  A sound stopped him.  It was voices singing an age-old nursery tune: 

    “Skip to my loobyloo,
    Skip to my loobyloo,
    Skip to my loobyloo
    All of a Saturday morning.”

It was a strange and curious sight in that wonderful old garden.  Down the sandy path under the overhanging blossoms came Jane and Zura, skipping and bowing in time to the game’s demands.  The last line brought them to us.  Hand in hand they stopped, Zura dishevelled, Jane’s hat looking as if it grew out of her ear, but old maid and young were laughing and happy as children.

“We were practising games for the ‘Sylumites,’” explained Zura.  “I’m premier danseuse to the Nipponese kiddies and Lady Jenny is my understudy.  What’s the argument?” she asked, observing first one face, then the other, keenly alive to some inharmony.

Mr. Chalmers started to speak.

I cut him short.  “Zura, take Mr. Hanaford with you and give him the book he wants.  You’ll find it on my desk.  You go too, Jane, and help; Mr. Hanaford is in a hurry.  I’ll bring Mr. Chalmers later.”

“Lovely!” exclaimed Jane; “and everybody will stay to lunch.  Come on, let’s have a feast.”

A feast!  Jane knew well enough it was bean soup and salad day, and not even a sweet potato in the pantry.  Miss Gray and Zura started house-ward, slowly followed by Page.  He had looked very straight at Mr. Chalmers, who returned the gaze, adding compound interest, and a contemptuous shrug.

They were barely out of hearing when he began, “Brave soldier of fortune, that!  Where did he come from?” Without waiting for me to answer he went on:  “I didn’t know you were a missionary, else you couldn’t have tied me with a rope and made me listen to a sermon and a peck of golden texts ‘a la Japanese.’”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Chalmers, I’m not a missionary.  If I were, I would leave off teaching the so-called heathen at once and be head chaplain to some of the ninety millions you were talking about.  Speaking of golden texts, I know my Bible too well to cast pearls.  Now, young man, once for all let me say, this thing simply cannot be.  Zura is a lonely girl in a strange land.  She must live under her grandfather’s roof.  Your slightest attention will make mountains of difficulty for her, and she is not going with you to-night even if you mean to marry her to-morrow.”