O'Rourke did not retort in words.
"But why did you smother the inspirations, you boy?" she asked, presently.
"I can't tell you now," he replied. "But at four o'clock I'll confess all. You want the red mare, I suppose. I'm off now to see your pater. Wish me luck, little girl."
Helen smiled.
"I hope you don't let all your cats out of their bags as easily as that," she said. "But it will save you the trouble of making confession later. Yes, the red mare, please. And, dear boy, I'll have a little talk with father at lunch, and he will never make you smother your dear inspirations again. There, that will do. Now run away and beard the lion. Really, you behave as if you were afraid of never finding me again."
"Oh, I've made sure of you this time," he said. Then he remembered the seven verses, and, pulling them from his pocket, read them aloud. The fire in the morning-room was wonderfully cheerful. The clock clicked softly, and chimed once or twice, unheeded. They talked a great deal, and made plans for the future, and O'Rourke smoked a cigarette. When Mr. Hudson came home to his lunch, he found them still engaged in conversation beside the morning-room fire. They looked guiltily at the clock. O'Rourke bowed to Mr. Hudson, and extended his hand.
"I have decided, sir, to stick to scribbling," said he.
"'I HAVE DECIDED, SIR, TO STICK TO SCRIBBLING'"