“THINK so?” He rose and stood over her. “You were just playing, were you?—leading me on?”

Cicely pushed back her chair and sprang up.

“How dare you?” she cried. “How dare you say such a thing to me? Please—go! I am exceedingly sorry you should have made such a dreadful mistake—but to blame me? Why, I've never been anything but friends with you!”

He came nearer.

“Reckon a girl’s not friends with a man unless there is something more,” he drawled.

Cicely backed to the wall.

“Mr. Talbot, will you please go? If I were not alone here, you would not dare to speak to me in this way. I tell you, once and for all, I am not going to marry you. If you really care for me, you’ll go now.”

“I’m not going. You’ve had your fun with me, and now you’ll pay for it.” He strode forward as he spoke, and gripped her by the shoulders.

Panic seized Cicely, at the mercy of this dreadful person.

“Bill!” she shrieked. “Bill, Bill, Bill!”

From the garden came the sound of yelping barks. Bill showed no signs of coming to the rescue. Only he barked and barked in wild excitement.

Talbot crushed Cicely against him. She could not even struggle under his iron hold. She was kissed roughly on her panting mouth, and then—

Someone pushed open the cottage door.

“You owe me a bob,” said a lazy, pleasant voice. “Get down, Bill!”

“Richard!” sobbed Cicely. “Oh, Richard!”

Still holding her with one arm, Talbot wheeled about. Cicely never quite knew what happened next. All that she remembered was that she was suddenly whisked from the farmer’s hold and deposited on the sofa. And Richard’s voice, dangerously sweet, was inviting Talbot to come outside. Then the two men seemed to disappear, shutting Bill into the cottage.

Cicely crouched on the sofa, shivering still, and Bill snuffed and whined at the door with suppressed excitement.

Then, after what seemed to Cicely countless ages, the door opened and Richard strolled in, calm and imperturbed. He passed the palm of his left hand across his knuckles and looked at his flushed cousin.

“Has—has he—gone?” asked Cicely, in a very small voice.

“Oh, yes!” said Richard.

“Did—did—you—hurt him much?”

“I hope so,” said Richard, and there was a short, uncomfortable pause.

“How—how did you—find me?” she inquired, with would-be carelessness.

“Process of deduction. What was that poisonous blighter doing in your cottage?”

“Ha — having — tea,” said Cicely, nervously.

“Where’s that fat fool—Maisie?”

“Gone to—to see some friends.”

“What does she mean by leaving you with a man like that?”

“She—she doesn’t like him.”

“Shows her good taste. Don’t you know better than to ask a brute like that to tea with you alone?”

Cicely blinked away a tear.

“I—I didn’t kn—know he—he’d—I always d—do ask my friends to tea!”

“Your father’s house is rather different, isn’t it?”

A muffled sob came from the sofa. Cicely was staring down at her hands, biting her lips. Richard went to her and sat with his arm about her shoulders. “Poor little kid! I won’t rag you any more. Don’t cry, Cis.”