"We shall have to see about that, shan't we," said the newcomer
amiably. "Come out into the moonlight and let's review the
situation."
Gerald, even in that topsy-turvy state of his world, found time to
think that a gamekeeper who used such words as that had most
likely a romantic past. But at the same time he saw that such a man
would be far less easy to "square" with an unconvincing tale than
Eliza, or Johnson, or even Mademoiselle. In fact, he seemed, with
the only tale that they had to tell, practically unsquarable.
Gerald got up if he was not up already, or still up and pulled at the
limp and now hot hand of the sobbing Mabel; and as he did so the
unsquarable one took his hand, and thus led both children out from
under the shadow of Flora's dome into the bright white moonlight
that carpeted Flora's steps. Here he sat down, a child on each side
of him, drew a hand of each through his velveteen arm, pressed
them to his velveteen sides in a friendly, reassuring way, and said:
"Now then! Go ahead!"
Mabel merely sobbed. We must excuse her. She had been very
brave, and I have no doubt that all heroines, from Joan of Arc to
Grace Darling, have had their sobbing moments.
But Gerald said: "It's no use. If I made up a story you'd see through
it."
"That's a compliment to thy discernment, anyhow," said the
stranger. "What price telling me the truth?"
"If we told you the truth," said Gerald, "you wouldn't believe it.
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