lspeth, and would not have
done so that afternoon had she not herself opened it.

The dear old lady's encouragement, however, deepened and strengthened
his hopes, in spite of her insidious hints concerning Mr. Pixley's
possible intentions. For she was a shrewd, shrewd woman, and those
soft brown eyes of hers saw far and deep. And, since she bade him
hope, hope he would, though every brick in London town became a Pixley
set on thwarting him.

The fact of Margaret's means being, for the present at all events, so
much larger than his own, he would not allow to trouble him. It was
Margaret herself he wanted, and had wanted long before he heard she
had money. The troublesome accident of her possessions should not come
between them if he could help it. He did not for one moment believe
she would ever think so ill of him as to believe that he wanted her
for anything but herself. And in any case, if kind Providence bestowed
her upon him, he would insist on her money being all settled on
herself absolutely and irrevocably.

Since that never-to-be-forgotten dinner, they had come across one
another at Lady Elspeth's with sufficient frequency to open the eyes
of that astute old lady to the heart-state of one of them at all
events. Possibly she knew more of the heart and mind of the other than
she cared to say in plain words; but, as a woman, she would naturally
abide by the rules of the game. In the smaller games of life it is
woman's privilege, indeed, to stretch and twist all rules to suit her
own convenience, but in this great game of love, woman stands by woman
and the womanly rules of the game--unless, indeed, she craves the
stakes for herself, in which case----

And so--although Lady Elspeth favoured him, that afternoon, only with
vague generalities as to the pleasures of hope, and afforded him no
solid standing-ground for the sole of his hopeful foot, but left him
to discover that for himself, as was only right and proper--his heart
stood high, and he looked forward with joyous anticipation to the
future.

The radiant sun of all his rosy heavens was Margaret Brandt, and he
would not for one moment admit the possibility of its clouding by
anything of the name of Pixley.

V

Graeme had not the entree of the Pixley mansion.

Mr. Pixley he knew, by repute only, as the head of Pixley's, the great
law-firm, in Lincoln's Inn. Mrs. Pixley he had never met.

Mr. Pixley was a bright and shining light--yea, a veritable
l