"After the way you've behaved!" cried the duchess.
"Oh, well, one doesn't always behave the same. One changes," said the duke.
Three days later Pollyooly and Ronald stood by a gate at the end of the home wood, awaiting the coming of the motor car, in which the Honourable John Ruffin was bringing the real Lady Marion Ricksborough to slip quietly into the place which Pollyooly had occupied with such signal success. The Lump, in the care of Emily Gibbs, was already speeding in the train to London, to be met at Waterloo and conveyed to the Temple by Mrs. Brown.
Ronald looked gloomy; and an air of sadness marred Pollyooly's serenity.
"It's perfectly rotten your going off like this—before we've done half the things we were going to. Why on earth couldn't uncle have waited till the end of the holidays to make the change?" said Ronald in a bitterly aggrieved tone.
"Well, you'll have Marion to go about with you," said Pollyooly.
"Nothing doing!" snapped Ronald.
His vehemence pleased her.
"It's a pity," she said sadly. "It's been splendid; and I'm awfully sorry to have to go."
Then her face cleared and brightened into an angel smile; she crinkled in her pocket the five ten-pound notes which the grateful duke had given her; and added: