"Five minutes! I shan't be one," said Agatha.
"You had better tell him that I brought you here, and that I shall take you back. Though"—resignedly—"he will no doubt shoot me when you do so."
"Dicky! He will be so grateful."
"That"—gloomily—"is not the way of lovers. And I have two to contend with. Darkham is probably sitting in a tree at this moment taking aim."
"Oh, Dicky, don't!."
"And even if I escape these two, there is still Mrs. Greatorex to slay me with her tongue. There, go on, dear Agatha. If not here on your return, I trust you to put up a fitting monument to my many virtues."
Agatha turned towards the house—he was really too frivolous for anything.
"I say!" called Mr. Browne after her. "Five minutes, you know— not a second more."
She ran noiselessly across the grass to the lighted window where she fancied Dillwyn must be sitting, and knocked gently at the window-pane. In a moment the blind was drawn up; there was a sharp ejaculation; then the window was thrown up.