The negotiations between Monsieur Petard, the editor of Chit-Chat, and the Bryces were neither so brief nor so simple as Mrs.Bryce had supposed that they would be. She did not have to be told that, after the notoriety of the Cartel incident, the name of Isabelle Bryce was one for editors to conjure with. This wily editor, who made his living by scandal, obligingly outlined the advertising campaign he would follow, to lead up to the publication of the letters.

Anxious as Mrs.Bryce was to have the scandal suppressed, she was unwilling that Wally should pay the price which these rascals demanded. So lengthy and irritating meetings followed—discussion and bargaining. Wally insisted upon paying anything they asked, and putting a period to the affair. But Mrs.Bryce was upheld by Clifford, in the idea that they would beat them down to a much lower figure, if they persisted.

During this period Max was so furious at both Isabelle and Miss Watts that it seemed wise for them to keep out of her way. They were like two conspirators slipping in and out of the house. But the most annoying detail was the espionage of Jean Jacques Petard. They soon discovered that he lay in wait for them, near the house, and on all occasions save when he was closeted with Bryce pÈre et mÈre, he was at the heels of Bryce fille.

He made Miss Watts so nervous that she could hardly be induced to go out. Isabelle was all for having a talk with the man, and speaking her mind, but Miss Watts prevented this. She repeatedly said that she must tell Mr.Bryce of his behaviour, but Isabelle begged her not to do that as it would only result in their being ordered to stay indoors. After all, he did not speak to them, his presence could not hurt them. Let him follow!

These were the most difficult days Isabelle had ever known. Usually, before, she had rescued herself with a high hand, from her escapades. But this thing had descended upon her head, like an avalanche, and for once, she saw no way of extricating herself.

Then, too, she was so homesick for Bermuda that she could scarcely bear the thought of it. The long, happy days, with Percy and Jack at heel, and Captain Larry O’Leary somewhere on the horizon, they haunted her. It was ten whole days since they left them, and not a word from any of them. To come from that paradise into this prison—from that atmosphere of devotion to this one of reproach—from that freedom—to this—tagged by the horrid little Frenchman!

The strain was telling upon poor Miss Watts, too. She was thinner than ever, and she looked haunted. Isabelle begged her to leave her, but she always replied: “My dear, we will face this together.”

But in her innermost heart Miss Watts lamented that Isabelle had not tried harder to interest Captain O’Leary. He was the right man for her, she knew it; and they certainly did need a man on their side. Wally might be there in spirit, but Mrs.Bryce did not allow him to express it.

The twelfth day since their return was a dark one for everybody. Max and Wally had to meet the enemy at eleven, in the lawyer’s office. The air was electric with Mrs.Bryce’s irritability. She left the two culprits in a state of collapse.

“One more performance like that, and I shall marry Jean Jacques Petard, and disappear,” announced Isabelle, violently, as the door closed on them.

“Isabelle, don’t talk like that,” begged Miss Watts.

“Let’s go back to Bermuda; I hate it here!” said the girl, going to the window. “We’ve got to get out of this hateful house. The spy will be busy this morning, so we’d better make the best of it.”

A motor drew up to the curb and a man got out, looking up at the numbers.

“O my Lord!” cried Isabelle, as if it were a prayer. She ran out of the room and down the hall, with Miss Watts, startled into action, hurrying after her. Before the bell sounded, Isabelle had the door open. Captain O’Leary looked, first surprised and then delighted.

“Cricket!” said he.

“Larry—Larry!” she cried.

He took both her hands and beamed on her—beamed. Then suddenly he was aware of Miss Watts, and he surprised everybody, including himself, by saluting that lady’s cheek.

“Captain O’Leary!” she exclaimed, and kissed him back.

They all went into the living room, talking in chorus—asking questions, answering them—incoherent and excited.

“Larry, when did you come?”

“Just landed. Where are your parents?”

“They’re out. Oh, I’m in an awful lot of trouble with them.”

“Why didn’t ye tell me ye were leavin’ down there?”

“I thought you knew. We left on a cable from Wally to hurry home. I told everybody.”

“I didn’t know. What’s this trouble ye speak of?”

“I oughtn’t to begin the moment you come.”

“Yes, ye ought. Let’s hear.”

Miss Watts gave a deep sigh of relief. Isabelle began the story of her patriotism. Here and there Larry asked a question, and when the climax was reached, he leaned back and roared. Isabelle’s eyes suddenly misted with tears.

“Oh, but Larry, it isn’t funny, it’s awful! He’s trying to make Wally pay a lot of money for my letters, and if Wally doesn’t pay up, he is going to sell them to a nasty society sheet called Chit-Chat.”

His face was grave enough to suit her now.

“Where is the little whelp?”

“He’s usually across the street looking at the house, or following me around,” she began.

“Ye mean to say he follows ye?”

“You may think I’m to blame, Captain O’Leary, for not telling Mr.Bryce of this, but Isabelle thought it would mean that her parents would keep her indoors. She is dreadfully in disgrace with her parents,” Miss Watts said.

“Poor little crickety-Cricket,” he murmured.

“You don’t blame me, do you, Larry? I know it was silly, but I just wanted to be a patriot, and to practise my French.”

“Sure I don’t blame ye, ye blessed baby,” he laughed.

She choked a little; it was so good to be championed.

“Mr.and Mrs.Bryce have gone for a conference with these men this morning, and we all hope they may settle it,” sighed Miss Watts.

“Where is this conference?”

“At Wally’s lawyer’s office,” said Isabelle.

“Get your hat, Cricket; we’ll go say a word or two at this conference.”

She looked at him inquiringly, and went for her wraps without a word.

“Oh, Captain O’Leary, we have needed you so!” exclaimed Miss Watts.

“Woman, woman, why didn’t ye cable me? As it is I took the first boat.”

“I know you and Isabelle want to be alone, but I’m so in disgrace now, with Mrs.Bryce, that I dare not let her go with you, unless I go.”

He frowned, then smiled.

“Of course, get your bonnet. Isabelle and I will have enough time later, to catch up on our affairs.”

So all three of them got into the Captain’s taxi, and hurried to the address which Isabelle gave the driver.

There was some little difficulty in Mr.Clifford’s outer office, but Captain O’Leary simplified it, by lifting the office boy out of the way, bodily, opening the door and marching in, followed by the two women.

Startled glances were lifted to this tall officer, stranger to them all, who strode in, unannounced. The lawyer rose angrily.

“How did you get in?” he demanded.

“Walked. Present me to the Bryces, Miss Watts,” he replied.

Miss Watts in a trembling voice said:

“Mrs.Bryce, this is Captain O’Leary, a friend of Isabelle’s and mine from Bermuda.”

Mrs.Bryce stared—too astonished to speak. The tall, young man bowed.

“This is my father,” said Isabelle. The two men shook hands.

“I object to this man’s coming in here,” began the editor of Chit-Chat.

Captain O’Leary fixed him with a stormy eye.

“We’ll hear your objections later. I know all about this rotten deal. Is this Jean Jacques Petard?”

“This is none of your business,” began Clifford, but he never finished it. With one long arm Captain O’Leary reached for Monsieur Petard, lifted the gentleman by the seat of his trousers and his collar, bore him toward the door. Isabelle opened it for him.

“Don’t kill him,” she said, as he went out.

Wally and Clifford rushed after him. Isabelle followed and Miss Watts got as far as the door. Max and the editor sat still, but sounds came to them from the outer hall.

It was about ten minutes later that O’Leary strode into the room again, with heightened colour but otherwise undisturbed.

“We’ll hear no more of Mr.Petard, I think. Now sir, it is your turn.”

The editor defended himself with a chair.

“What business is this, of yours?” he yelled.

“Miss Bryce is going to do me the honour of marrying me, and you’ll jolly well see how much it is my business. Put down that chair, it is words for you, not blows. Mr.Bryce, if the ladies will leave us, we can settle shortly with this gentleman.”

Max and Miss Watts lost no time in obeying the hint.

“Close the door, Isabelle, please,” he said to her.

“Who is this man?” demanded Mrs.Bryce.

“Don’t talk! If that creature hurts him,” said Isabelle, her ear at the door.

There were sounds of angry voices inside, loud argument. Then silence. After what seemed a long time, Larry opened the door.

“Come in, now, please.”

They filed in. The editor was huddled in his chair. He was pretty much to pieces, nervously. Larry held up a package of letters.

“Mrs.Bryce, the letters are in my possession. May I keep them, for the present, Isabelle?”

She nodded.

“This gentleman has just signed a paper, drawn up by Mr.Bryce and me, signed by Mr.Clifford. This will be held by Mr.Clifford, in case of need. That ends this conference, I believe,” he said affably.

The editor left hastily. Mr.Clifford went into the outer office, and Max turned to Isabelle.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were going to marry this man?” she demanded.

Isabelle looked at Larry inquiringly, whereupon he took her hand and drew it through his arm.

“Ye must forgive her, Mrs.Bryce, ye see she didn’t know it. I’ve never had a chance yet to ask her.”

Max was used to shocks, but this morning had been too much for her. At this astounding statement on the part of their god-like liberator, she sat down suddenly, bereft of words, and stared at the two young people.

“Take me home, Wally,” she said, “I can’t stand any more!”

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