thing ridiculous, Colonel Edge would obviously consider it
unsoldier-like. The chance had been frittered away; life was at its old
game of neglecting its own possibilities. There was nothing but to
acquiesce; fine melodrama had been degraded into a business interview
with two elderly and conscientious gentlemen. The scene in the Long
Gallery had at least been different from this! Harry bowed his head; he
must be thankful for small blessings; it was something that they had
remembered the lady at last.

At a glance from Edge, Neeld rose to go.

"Pray wait--wait a minute or two," begged Harry. "I want to think for a
minute."

Neeld sat down again. It is very likely they were as surprised at him as
he was childishly vexed with them. For he exhibited perfect calm. Yet
perhaps Colonel Edge, who had given so colorless an account of the
Comtesse's wild appeal to him, was well suited.

"I'm going down to Iver's to-morrow," said old Neeld, tucking the
extract from the Journal into his pocket.

"To Iver's?" After a moment's silence Harry fairly laughed. Edge was
surprised, not understanding what a difference the Comtesse's manoeuvre
had made there too. He could not be expected to know all the difference
it had made to Harry's life, even to the man himself. Two irresponsible
ladies--say Addie and--well, Madame Valfier--may indeed make
differences.

"Yes, to Fairholme," continued old Neeld. "We--we may see you there
now?"

Edge looked up with an interested glance. It had occurred to him that he
was turning somebody out as well as putting somebody in.

"You'll have, of course, to communicate what I have said to--to----?

"Oh, we'll say Lady Tristram still," Harry interrupted.

Edge gave a little bow. "I shall be ready to meet her or her advisers at
any time," he remarked. "She will, I hope, recognize that no other
course was open to me. She must not think that there is any room for
doubt."

Harry's brain was at work now; he saw himself going to Blent, going to
tell Cecily.

"Possibly," Mr Neeld suggested, "it would be better to intrust a third
person with the task of giving her this news? One of her own sex
perhaps?" He seemed to contemplate a possible fainting-fit, and,
remembering his novels, the necessity of cutting stay-laces, a task
better left to women.

"You're thinking of Mina? Of Mina Zabriska?" asked Harry, laughing.
There again, what a loss! Why had not Mina heard it at first hand? She
would have known ho