"No, no!" cried Marjolaine, in agony.
Her mother caught sight of her and called her.
For a moment Marjolaine stood irresolute. Then, with an almost hysterical laugh, she ran to her mother. "Me voilà, Maman chèrie!"
Jack was peering through the hole in the hedge, looking for a chance of escape. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn put his head slily round the corner of the Gazebo—and, sure enough, just as he had suspected—there was a young man!
What with the Muffin-man, and Madame, and Marjolaine running to and fro and button-holing everybody who seemed to be inclined to drift towards the summer-house, the Walk's attention was fully occupied. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn lifted his fat hand and brought it down with a sounding thwack on Jack's shoulder.
"What the devil—?" cried Jack, turning fiercely on his assailant. And then in amazement, "Hoskyn! By all that's improbable, old Hoskyn!"
If it were possible for a large man to shrivel, the great Mr. Jerome Brooke-Hoskyn seemed to shrivel as he recognised Jack. He could only stammer, "You, sir—you!—"
"Hoskyn!" repeated Jack. And then, suspiciously, "What the devil are you doing here?"
I hate to have to write the words, but Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had all the obsequious manner of a well-trained servant. "I beg pardon, sir," he muttered, and turned to go.
But Jack caught him by the lapel of his coat. "No, no, Hoskyn; you don't get off so easily. What are you doing here?"