‘I should have known what to think of them,’ said Bertie; ‘if you choose to excite yourself over other people’s correspondence it’s your own fault. Anyhow, I’m going for a doctor.’

It was Bertie’s great opportunity, and he knew it. His mother was conscious of the fact that she would look rather ridiculous if the story got about. She was willing to pay hush-money.

‘I’ll never open your letters again,’ she promised.

And Clovis has no more devoted slave than Bertie Heasant.