at just the time that I'd always
planned."

He felt the pride of a man who had worked on schedule and been punctual
to the second.

Sir Tobias turned. His face was composed. It was some seconds before he
spoke. "Of course this is no surprise to me. You _are_ old for her.
You'll be fifty-five when she's scarcely forty." He paused and Tabs'
heart sank. "You're older than her; but then you're wiser. She needs a
husband who'll be wise." He sat leisurely as though he were resting from
a long journey; then he stretched out his hand. Tabs went over and took
it. "My dear fellow, there's only one thing I ask: make her always
happy."

The clock in the hall struck midnight. He lifted himself to his feet. "I
had no idea how the time had flown. By the way, that's the address--the
Maisie woman's."

Tabs took it carelessly. It had become a thing of little consequence. He
folded it away in his pocket. "And when shall I see Terry?" Of a sudden
he felt that he must see her; see her and make sure of her without loss
of time.

"To-morrow, I suppose. Say about eleven."

Tabs thought back. He had expected to receive a call from General
Braithwaite about eleven, or at least to hear from him as soon as he had
opened his morning's letters. Then he smiled to himself; when once he
was engaged to Terry, what General Braithwaite did or did not do would
be no longer of any importance.

"Yes, about eleven, if it'll be agreeable to Terry."

"There's not much doubt about its being agreeable to her."

They passed out into the hall. While Tabs found his hat and coat, they
spoke only in monosyllables. The servants had gone to bed. The house was
intensely silent.

They had got as far as the front-door and Sir Tobias already had his
hand upon the latch, when a taxi purred up to the pavement and came to a
halt immediately outside. "Some one stopping at the wrong house," he
hazarded and threw the door wide. "See you again to-morrow."

"Yes, to-morrow."

"At eleven," Sir Tobias reminded.

"On the dot of eleven," Tabs confirmed.

He passed into the cool night air, wistful with the fragrance of unseen
flowers. His eyes were dazed for the moment by the sudden change of
light. He made out the blurred silhouette of the taxi and faltered,
thinking he might have a chance to hire it; then he saw that its shadowy
occupants were climbing back into its deeper darkness. It seemed that
Sir Tobias had been right; it had stopped at the wrong house.

As